I just realise arms and/or legs may represent more than just placement. There are a bunch of meanings but lets simplify it to these:
Arms
• To protect or be protected by
• To care or be cared for
• To love or be loved by
Legs
• To strengthen or be strengthened by
• To ground or be grounded by
• To lead or be lead by
I got the idea with Lilith and Charlie being on Lucifer’s arms but Alastor and Etienne being on his legs.
I mean, I always see them as either always being on the arms (chest if you have no arms) or in a place relevant to the soulmate, like over your heart, so I can see this!
You know, reading through a soulmate!AU where two soulmates share injuries and, as such—it got me thinking about what having chronic illnesses would look like between a set of soulmates.
Would they have matching symptoms? Would one go through the disability and be on medication for it while the other is experiencing said symptoms in a healthy body NOT be able to be on medication for it? Would one be ridden with guilt, anger, and pain for putting the other through the illness? Would the flare-ups act as a homing beacon between the sets? Would one be caught in the lie of holding it together during a flare-up only because the other experiences the flare-ups too? Would there be resentment there at being so hyperexposed? Would it be a test in humility and vulnerability?
I'm sooooo curious about the angst hurt/comfort potential of this trope. Like, the possibilities are ENDLESS.
We need more soulmate fanworks for re:zero tbh - lovers, platonic, AND enemies!
(just using Lugunican as a catch all term for any natives to this world bc I don't??? Think they have a name for their world???? Whack..... Just assume ppl from all nations can be included bc not all of them are born citizens of Lugunica anyways cjsndksnsk)
🟠 I've already seen some different kinds of soulmate fics out there (growing flowers, tattoos appearing, past sharing, kintsugi) so I shan't go over them 🫡
🟠 Name of the person you're meant to kill (and be killed by sometimes!) being on your arms is one one I'm really fond of and for that to be in RE:ZERO of all medias??? Perfection in its confusion tbh. I've dubbed it Killer Soulmates AU :)
Subaru would definitely have lists on both arms but what about other people?
Would they have different names for more than one loop or would they only have True Timeline lists?
HOW many people would be on Subaru's arms, considering he experiences all the loops and they don't?
Would these lists follow him from Earth (and make his life hell considering how much more soft modern Japan is in comparison (for both killed and killed lists)) or would they just materialize post-isekai and he wouldn't even fucking know until he bathes for the first time in the mansion while the residents all know?
(Got slashed up like a melon and woke up to someone doodling on his arms what a day)
Would it depend on how the individual perceives responsibly for a killing or would it be hard set for intent of killing someone ("letting" Rem die vs killing Ram in the cave?)?
Would Subaru's name be engraved on Lugunican's arms their whole lives or would they all of a sudden appear upon his isekai?
Would the names on Subaru 's Kill List appear for certain loops? He would never intentionally kill Ram but her name would appear in the cave loop and then disappear in a restart.
Subaru could have his own fucking name oh my gods. Cliff loop would go wildly different because he had no idea Rem would be killed AND his own name in on his arm....
Would the amount of deaths suffered by a person increase the font size of the names on their arms, something that would only be unique to Subaru, Al, Reinhard, and others with resurrection type skills?
For a more comedic approach, Subaru wouldn't have any names bc he wasn't born with magic or in a magical world and so the natives have to figure out wtf is happening with this random homeless man 💀 Bc even peaceful deaths have "Time" written on them
🟠 Your soulmate's name appears but only in their native language! Which means some (un)lucky bastards have Hoshin's text on their arm and are hella confused unless they're history buffs LMAO. Name Tag Soulmates AU(?)
🟠 You swap eyes with your soulmate and once you lock gazes you get to see what your actual eyes look like (bonus for unusual eyes for Subaru on earth) and you share one of them forever. So one eye from you and one from them 💚 Beholder Soulmates AU(?) Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder and all that 🙂↕️
For Subaru, this could be any romantic partner but also Beatrice on account of the contract they make
In general it's up in the air if spirits are part of soulmate tropes but I like it so yea
🟠 When you mark your skin, it creates a correspondence with your soulmates - a trope I like best with platonic and romantic soulmates but much more with what will be a group of very close relationships! Soulscript Soulmates AU 💚💚💚
Imagine all the Candidates, Knights, and close attendants being in one giant community soulmate bond across the world and then out of nowhere some random gibberish is being consistently marked on them. Ooh the intrigue for the Lugunicans and the absolute confusion from someone who has access to the internet and no clue what language that is
Ricardo, Rom, and Wilhelm (and Clind maybe but I can't really speak for a character I don't know much about) would probably be the ones initially looking for their bondmates
(For fun, when a bondmate dies their name in engraved in permanent script. As Subaru's real name is recognized as written in Japanese in Lugunica, no one knows it's him lmao. Sure, it's the same language but surely if one soulmate knows it, so could others? Pleiades Tower becomes hard mode for Subaru when they recognize that name)
(Rip Theresia LOL)
(Oh my gods... Can soulmates read their bondmate 's books if they've never met in person?)
Subaru makes the mistake of trying to ask the groupchat if people just randomly revive in this world. Once.
That one illiterate bondmate finally learned how to write!! Everyone is singing them praises when beginner i-script slowly starts to replace the Hoshin's text. (Ram suspects it's her new junior who she just started teaching is actually her bondmate...)
Doubtful, but he would probably write something like "I love you all" while he waits in the forest for the "assassin" because he's a softy, he's scared, and he can finally communicate. The chat goes WILD
(Anastasia is going CRAZY btw. HOW is there a community out there that only writes in Hoshin's text!??)
Can you tell this one's my favorite lol
🟠 You see the world in grayscale and when you meet eyes you gain color. This already has a name, I'm sure, so I'm not gonna bother to title it
For one and done soulmate bonds it's the whole rainbow but for groups you see one flavor of color per soulmate in the band. Meeting Emilia would give him purples, blues with Rem, pinks with Ram, reds with Beatrice, and so on
It would be really cute to navigate what different colors r with their soulmates after only knowing grayscale 🩶
🟠 You can switch bodies with soulmates. In times of extreme emotion, the soul cries out and shuffles the souls of everyone in the bond. VERY chaotic and definitely creates failed loops BUT having experienced drivers definitely boosts Subaru's survival rate. Soulshuffle Soulmates AU
Omg can you imagine Subaru switching with the person trying to kill him (REM.)
This world is so dangerous that the natives understand the process enough to have a whole culture about it but Subaru is only really equipped to help with, like, exam seasons for the longest time. He probably asks for self defence training as a kid when he switches with another during an actual crisis
Or Subaru would be cut off from switching until he isekais and it hella feeds into his insecurities :(
Imagine the culture shock if they kept rotating while Subaru was avoiding school and then he becomes a depressed recluse and suddenly no one can switch with him because he's become so numb.... Ah I just made myself sad :(((
Imagine Reinhard being the one to switch with him during his first loop and he gains new DPs right then and there to force the switch back so he can nyoom right over to save them
Omg wait this specific one can definitely help prevent failed loops BUT it could also extend the time it would take Subaru to realize he can loop in the first place
Would he have to kill himself in another body bc his👀authority👀is👀soul👀specific?👀👀👀👀
🟠 Soulmates can retreat into a shared soulhome (Mindscape? Od? Plane? Whatever anyone would wanna call it). Soulhome is v cute I think, but I would also go for Mindscape Soulmates AU tbh
Whether they retreat and appear as themselves or just impressions of themselves (a soulflame, a tree, a disembodied voice, etc) is up in the air
As themselves would make it easier to identify each other but impressions would make more of a mystery 🤔
Would Subaru be blurry and distant to them or would he be the same as everyone else? Either works here tbh, just depends on the genre ig
Imagery would go hard for this au
Culture Exchange yaayy 💚
🟠 A classic - The Red String of Fate!!!
What it says on the tin lol
In this au I think it would make more sense to have the string(s) come from the heart (Like the chains in Bleach!) or from around the neck, especially if there's more than one 🧵
Extension of this, maybe it's tethered to their gates (their chest), but for Subaru it's his pinky?
They're only visible to other soulmates in the bond BUT they can only touch their own string connected to other people. Ex: Garf can have, say 20, strings and he can touch all of them but only one of those 20 can touch the string that directly ties them to him and none of the ones that tie from him to others. Garf, Otto, and Subaru are soulmates but Garf wouldn't be able to touch the thread that connects Subaru and Otto
Yanking on the thread can cause a sharp pain, tugging can call attention, twirling can induce happiness, biting can send someone into a maddening frenzy, and caressing can make someone go fuzzy. Trying to cut the thread, via death or by one's own hands, can knock the recipient unconscious for a while
Maybe other soulmates feel echoes of the actions
One of the few aus that would be fun with either born bonds or made bonds 🙂↕️
🟠 The first touch of your soulmate(s) leave a colored print on you. Same as grayscale, I think this one is already a named trope?
A common trope but devastating for r:z when you only find out who your soulmate is AFTER touching them 😭
Gods just IMAGINE if Julius leaves a print on Subaru during the Sloth hunt bc he only uses the practice sword during the duel (and then he has to kill him lol)
Rem leaving a print on him when she had to bath him but still deciding to torture him 😬
Depending on if the soul prints are left on someone via physical means or through the soul, they could cross over through loops 👀
Misunderstandings happen because everyone thinks Subaru already has so many soulmates (well, yes) but in reality they just don't see the first contact. Sooo much confusion if they recognize their own color though
For such an unforgiving world, it's pretty colorful
Alternatively, people could leave impressions of their soul colors that last for a bit and then fade? Maybe? Like when you press on your skin and then watch it color correct itself
WAIT LMAO HOW MANY PRINTS WOULD BE FROM HEADPATS LMAOOO
🟠 You can't lie to your soulmate(s). Compulsion Soulmates AU(?) Like the compulsion to tell truths or lies maybe?
As brutal as it is simple really. Would have to find away around Envy to make this work 🤔
🟠 Your reflection is of your soulmate. Reflective Soulmates AU(?)
Better for one and one bonds I think... Cute, but not very versatile
I can imagine Satella and Envy occupying his reflection tho, so that would make a smol Subaru's life a living horror movie lmao
Would be funny with the longer lived character though. Even with Emilia, she's older looking while Subaru is still on Earth isn't she?
Ahhh anyways, this is all just ideas that have been bothering me lately 🙂↕️ Maybe I'll get around to writing or drawing some of them! I'm particularly fond of Killer Soulmates and Soulscript Soulmates 👀👀👀👀 every name I came up with with (?) r up for renaming lol. Not very attached to those names
Since I'm trying my darnedest to make (at least by the Tracker fandom even if the show never makes it canon) the Randy/Colter ship (or as I portmanteau it "Coltrand") a thing here's some soulmate!AU prompts for those intrigued
one based on this Abbott Elementary soulmate!AU where because soulmarks represent something non-job-related that soulmates have in common Colter and Randy's is pancakes (Colter's got emotional attachment because of his mom so maybe kid!him before realizing he went both ways in this AU wondered if that meant his soulmate was the kind of girl who'd grow up to be a woman like his mom and Randy's just a junk food junkie) and where because what activates-but-doesn't-seal the soulbond (complicated to explain how soulmates work in this AU, the fic explains it better than I can) is one soulmate saying "I love you" even in a platonic context that I love you comes from an unaware-because-he-thinks-he-and-Randy-are-too-different-to-be-soulmates Colter in said platonic context after a particularly helpful tech-assist on a job
the type of soulmate AU where you get whatever music your soulmate is currently listening to stuck in your head (and in some it's bad manners to listen to music while your soulmate is unless it's unavoidable) and part of what leads to Colter being a theater geek is Randy being a theater kid
Another Abbott-Elementary-soulmate!AU-inspired one this time based off this one where you have your soulmate's initial in their handwriting on your wrist (but a lot of people cover theirs) and when you touch it you can feel what they're feeling but in the Tracker-ification of this it's the initial of whatever name they commonly go by AKA Colter thinks his is Reenie until (which one depending on the writer) either uncovered mark accidentally, seen signature, or feelings-that-don't-match-with-the-other-one on the part of either Reenie or Randy he realizes right letter wrong person
touch-related soulmate indicator AU of your choice where Colter's isolation from his support team is why he doesn't realize Randy's his soulmate until at least the events of "No Good Deed" if not as early as "Memories" when they're out in the field together and actually able to skin-on-skin contact (or maybe it doesn't occur on either of their field-team-up jobs but when they're at the diner in the beginning of S3 meaning Russell who likely didn't even know Colter liked guys or had some inklings at best gets to see Colter soulbond or w/e with a male soulmate right in front of him)
whatever the indicator one of those soulmate AUs where "separation sickness" is a thing meaning once Randy and Colter are bonded soulmates he basically has to divide his time between Denver/the firm and being on the road as Colter's field partner/doing the legal-related techie stuff remotely in a way depending on your framing one could compare to either joint custody or Hades and Persephone
Sentinel/Guide, enough said
the seeing your soulmate's eye color until you see all the colors when you meet them one meaning that since Colter has blue eyes that's why Randy wears so much blue, because until they met it was the only color he could see meaning it was what he knew he looked good in and didn't have to rely on the opinion of friends who found their soulmates to make sure he didn't accidentally black-and-white himself into a fashion don't
one of the ones where soulmarks can-be-of-anything-within-reason-a-la-cutie-marks but instead of your soulmate being who matches they're who has a complementary mark to your own (hence why sometimes people would end up with not-their-soulmate as they see connections where there aren't any and are too in love to care when, like, whatever color change or something that's the usual indicator in these kinds of soulmate AUs for when you've found your soulmate doesn't happen) and regardless of who'd have what as I've seen ones where your mark symbolizes yourself and ones where yours symbolizes your soulmate the paired marks symbolizing them as a duo would be a map for Colter (helping the lost get found and also in the source-material-the-show's-based-on-where-we-get-to-see-more-of-Colter's-perspective he's got a map/cartography hyperfixation of sorts) and a-star-that's-the-eight-point-simple-way-to-depict-it-not-the-five-point-because-it's-supposed-to-be-Polaris for Randy (bringing the brightness/light that can help point the way for others)
So if you see any of these you like (or it inspires you to make something similar) feel free to write away, this pair is kinda underrated
(Jack Abbot x fem!FBI!reader x Michael Robinavitch)
Part 1
Soulmate au
Note: this is set in season 2, but as of right now we are still waiting on episode 8 to air, so i have no idea how season 2 ends yet- i am just letting my imagination run wild after episode 7. With a criminal minds crossover (borrowing the BAU for this, hope you guys don't mind.) You don't have to know anything about criminal minds to read this. Thank you.
Warnings: no medical accuracy whatsoever. no idea how the fbi works. poly soulmate au. reader doesn't have a name but it's hinted that her name is a boy's name / not common for girls - no name is mentioned. 5-7 years age gap.
Warnings: no medical accuracy whatsoever. no idea how the fbi works. poly soulmate au. reader doesn't have a name but it's hinted that her name is a boy's name / not common for girls - no name is mentioned. 5-7 years age gap. Injuries. Hostage situation. Gunshots. Angst.
wc◇5.1k
masterlist
"What the hell!"
Trent Norris’s voice cut through the department like a gunshot, loud enough to make conversations snap in half and hands freeze mid-motion. For a split second, even the monitors seemed quieter.
“You are not searching me!”
Silence followed, heavy and immediate. Heads turned in unison, Perlah halfway through adjusting an IV stopped with her fingers still curled around the tubing, Santos and Javadi leaned out from behind a curtain, eyes wide and hungry for distraction. Even Joy and Ogilvie who had been at each other's throats in front of doctor Mohan and doctor Langdon lifted their chins toward the sound.
At the center of it stood the CEO himself, face flushed an angry shade of red, jaw tight, chest puffed up like indignation alone could grant immunity.
Agent Jareau, blonde, composed, and visibly running on fumes, looked towards Morgan with the expression of someone who had exactly one ounce of patience left and was deciding whether this man deserved it or not.
“Mr. Norris-” Morgan began, hands open in a gesture that could have meant either calm down or don’t make me do this.
He didn’t get far.
“Listen here,” Norris barked, stepping forward as if volume would guarantee his authority. “I am the damn CEO. You think I will have a weapon here? That I am working with someone to terrorize my own hospital?”
By now, everyone was watching. Some nurses had fully stepped into the hallway, a respiratory therapist lingered openly in a doorway, no longer pretending to be subtle, even the paramedic at the far end of the room slowed down to a stop.
“Frankly, sir, we don’t care.” Yn's voice cut clean and precise through the air.
Morgan and Jareau shifted away gradually, creating space without looking like they were retreating. It was subtle, the way they did it, years of partnership compressed into a single silent agreement; when Hotchner wasn’t present, they all knew who commanded the room.
Yn stepped forward. Her posture was straight and controlled, her gaze steady and unwavering as she looked up at the larger man without a hint of intimidation.
“You will be searched,” she continued, each word deliberate. “Just like we searched the patients. Just like we searched your staff.”
The emphasis was subtle yet sharp.
“You think one of the people who work here- who give their lives to this place more than you ever did- would bring in a weapon? Hell no. But they were searched.”
Her voice hardened.
“And so will you.”
Norris opened his mouth again, but whatever he intended to say stalled under the weight of her stare.
“Stand still,” she finished, her tone now edged with steel, “and shut up.”
The department held its breath. Yn didn’t shout, she didn’t need to, there was something far more dangerous than anger in her voice- certainty.
Her eyes locked onto his, unflinching, unyielding and full of disrespect. The kind of gaze that had stared down serial killers, liars and men who believed their power and position exempted them from consequence. It didn't.
Trent Norris, CEO of the hospital, sputtered for half a second longer before the fight drained from his shoulders. Not because he’d been convinced, but because he’d been overruled and outranked by someone who didn’t care about his title, it was someone who only cared about protocol.
He lifted his arms stiffly, muttering under his breath as she stepped closer. The contrast was almost absurd, her well built yet smaller frame- precise movements, calm hands checking his waistband, jacket, ankles- while he stood rigid and offended.
No one laughed, but the tension shifted. Yn finished quickly, stepping back once she was satisfied.
“You’re clear,” she said simply.
No apology. No emotion. Just fact.
Norris lowered his arms, smoothing down his collar as though reclaiming his dignity through the fabric. He cast one last glare in her direction, but it faltered under the steadiness of her expression.
Across the station, Robby felt something low and warm curl in his chest that had nothing to do with soulmate bonds and everything to do with pride. Jack, beside him, looked dangerously close to smiling.
God, she was terrifying. And entirely theirs.
Yn turned away from Norris without another glance, already scanning the room again, recalibrating. Asomething lingered in the air; respect, not for the CEO, but for the FBI agent who shook him down with a stare.
“Okay, everyone,” Robby called out, his voice cutting through the restless hum of bodies and machinery. He glanced around at the nurses hovering near the nurses’ station, at the residents lingering with charts clutched to their chests, at the nosy patients pretending to look for nurses just to stay within earshot of the FBI agents. “Get moving.”
The spell broke, gowns and scrubs scattered back into motion, the hospital floor breathing again, even if the air still felt tight.
Yn stepped closer to the younger blonde agent at her side, lowering her voice just enough to keep it between them. “Any word from Garcia yet?”
Agent Jareau shook her head, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She looked composed, she always did, but there was a thin line pulling at her forehead. “No. Rossi and Spencer are saying everyone over there is clear.”
A broad shadow fell over them as Derek Morgan joined the duo, scanning the corridors like he expected their unit chief to materialize from sheer force of will. “Where the hell is Hotch?”
“He went back to Westbridge,” JJ replied.
Yn’s gaze snapped toward her. “What? Why is he there if everything is clear?” Her eyes swept the chaotic floor again, patients being wheeled through, orderlies weaving between IV poles, doctors murmuring urgent updates.
“Bomb threat.”
The words settled heavy in her chest. Now her eyes locked on JJ’s, dark and sharp.
“Fuck me.”
“Is that only in Westbridge or?”
“So far.”
“So far,” Yn echoed under her breath, the phrase tasting bitter. She straightened, the shift in her posture subtle but immediate, command sliding into place like it belonged there. “Okay. We’re spreading out. Keep your eyes open. If anything feels off, handle it slow. Don’t rush.” Her voice dropped lower with each word, controlled and deliberate. “This is an emergency department, they’ve got enough to worry about without us adding to it.”
Morgan gave a short nod while JJ’s shoulders squared.
“I’m calling Hotch,” Yn added, already pulling her phone out of her pocket. “We need Bomb Squad on standby. Just in case.”
They split without another word.
Yn moved through the corridor with purpose, phone pressed to her ear, her voice hushed but urgent as it connected. Doctors and nurses passed her in a blur of scrubs; she didn’t spare them a glance, didn’t let her focus drift- until she saw Dana weaving through the chaos with brisk determination.
“Hey, pretty,” Yn murmured, tilting the phone slightly toward her shoulder to muffle her end of the conversation, her tone softening just a fraction. “Can you let Dr. Robby know I need to speak with him? As soon as he’s free. I’ll need ten minutes of his time. Thanks.”
She didn’t wait for a reply. The phone was back at her ear, the professional mask settling firmly back into place as she continued speaking to her on-paper supervisor, her steps never slowing.
Dana was already moving. She navigated the sea of people with ease, scanning for the tall figure who usually stood out in any room. She didn’t find Robby, but she did find his counterpart.
“Hey,” she called, stepping toward Jack Abbot. “You seen Robby?”
Jack stood shoulder to shoulder with Javadi and Mel, gloves snapped snug around his wrists, posture alert and ready. “No. Why?”
“Agent Yn wants to talk to him.”
The reaction was almost subtle, but it was there. The flicker in his eyes, the tightening along his jaw. He turned to the two younger doctors, already stripping the gloves from his hands. “Doctor Javadi, you’ll handle the procedure. Doctor King, assist her if needed.” His voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it.
“Did she say why?” he asked Dana as he stepped closer.
“No. Seemed urgent though.” Dana studied him, taking in the subtle signs, his jaw ticking, the faint crease between his brows- not his usual frown- this one meant something was wrong, something she wasn’t being told.
She stopped walking, forcing him to stop too. “What’s going on, cowboy?”
Her tone was light and teasing, but her eyes weren’t- they were sharp, searching.
Jack and Robby had never let anyone see the names inked into their skin. They’d talked about it once, early on when they first met, when everything was still new and raw and overwhelming. They’d agreed it was fine if people knew they were soulmates, it was fine if people knew there was a third- it would’ve been impossible to hide that anyway, not with the wrist to elbow cover sleeve sticking to Jack’s forearm everywhere. But the name? That was sacred, private. Just for them. Years had passed since that conversation. Years of learning who could be trusted and who would gossip. And Dana could be trusted, she would help.
Because right now, with FBI walking around their halls, they needed someone steady, someone rational, someone who could keep things contained if everything went sideways. Someone who would make sure the three of them made it past this godforsaken day.
Jack glanced around once, scanning for watching eyes, then jerked his head towards an empty patient room. Dana followed without hesitation. Inside, he pulled the curtains shut, barely muting the chaos beyond them, the fluorescent light hummed overhead and for a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Jack reached for his forearm and slowly he began rolling back the fabric of his cover sleeve, the ink emerging in careful strokes of dark lettering, stark against his skin. There was no mistaking it.
YN LN.
The name stared up at Dana like a confession and a threat at the same time. She exhaled sharply, somewhere between disbelief and frustration. “Goddammit, you two.”
The first time Yn looks at Robby, really looks at him, it isn’t cinematic. There’s no swell of music in the background, no fluorescent lights flickering at the exact right second, no cosmic ripple that makes the entire ED pause mid-step.
It’s painfully, almost insultingly, normal.
Yn straightens from where she’s been leaning against the counter, the movement subtle but deliberate. Her spine aligns, her shoulders square, and she lifts her chin just enough to meet his eyes. There’s nothing soft in her expression, nothing dreamy or awestruck. She studies him the way she studies a crime scene, the way she studies a suspect. Calm, clinical and focused.
Her gaze drags over the lines of his face like she’s cataloguing evidence. The faint crease between his eyebrows that looks permanent from years of stress and responsibility, the exhaustion in his eyes- the kind that only comes from running a department that never sleeps.
She could almost feel it.
Not pain- not sharp or burning or anything that would make her gasp. It’s pressure. A slow, tightening pull beneath her sternum, like someone’s hooked a string around her ribs and pulled it taut. It’s familiar in the way a word sits at the tip of your tongue- almost there, almost pronounced.
If she’d had one more hour of sleep, if she’d looked at him twenty minutes earlier- before possible bomb threats and ransom demands swallowed her focus whole- if she’d met his eyes with just a fraction more clarity instead of running on caffeine and adrenaline she would have connected the dots. She would have seen past the navy scrubs and the title of Chief Attending, she would have double-checked the badge clipped to his chest, the one displaying his full name in clear black lettering. The one right in front of her goddamn face.
But she doesn’t.
Because she’s sleep-deprived and tense, her weight resting more on her right leg as she talks about explosives in the corner of a hospital corridor.
“So,” Robby says, arms folding across his chest in a defensive reflex he doesn’t even realize he’s making, “you want to tell me that what- there might be a bomb in here?”
“No, Doctor Robby.”
God, he hates that she sounds so calm. But God, does he love the way she says his name.
“I’m saying that one of the other two hospitals attacked by the same group is currently being threatened for ransom, and they’re claiming there’s a bomb.” Her voice is even. “Is there actually one? No. Whoever’s behind this isn’t brave enough for that.”
Just because she’s standing there with that steady gaze and that pretty face, just because her name is inked into his skin in dark, permanent script, just because she is his soulmate does not mean he isn’t absolutely panicking.
“And what about when they do get brave, huh?” His voice lifts despite himself, frustration and fear tangling together. “What happens then? What about the people working here? The patients? The nurses?” His breath catches before he can stop it. “My soulmates.”
The words slips out, raw and incomplete.
You have one fucking job, Robby. Don’t mess it up.
He understands now why Agent Hotchner had insisted he and Jack keep quiet, why he’d warned them that knowing could complicate everything. Because right now, standing in front of her, every instinct Robby has as a doctor, as a leader, as a soulmate, is screaming at him to get her out, to get Jack out, to get them both far away from any potential blast radius.
His mind is already mapping exits, stairwells, underground parking. He’s calculating how long it would take to clear the beds, how fast he could move critical patients without causing chaos.
“I understand your panic,” she says, and the words snap him back to her. "And your fear. Believe me, Doctor, I do.” There’s no mockery in her tone, no dismissal, just firm acknowledgment. “But profiling, understanding how the unsub- the attacker- thinks, that’s my job. I know what I’m telling you.”
“Are you that sure that he won’t-”
“Yes.”
The interruption is sharp but not cruel.
The confidence in her voice hits him harder than her words.
He’s been a doctor for decades. He’s delivered diagnoses in rooms so heavy with grief it felt like breathing underwater, he’s reassured parents while knowing there were no guarantees, he’s trained interns to speak in probabilities, in data, in outcomes that always have margins of error.
He has never- never- been able to offer one hundred percent certainty out loud.
And yet she stands here, in the middle of his emergency department, with absolute conviction threaded through her tone like steel.
“I’ve been with the BAU for twenty-three years,” she continues, eyes locked on his. “I’ve seen my fair share of everything.” The weight behind that statement is unspoken but undeniable. “I’m not saying you’re staying here. I’m saying we need to be discreet about how we get everyone out.”
Robby exhales slowly, the air leaving him like a deflating balloon. The situation settles heavier on his shoulders, pressing down until he feels the full gravity of it. This isn’t just about him or his soulmates, it’s about hundreds of lives- fragile ones, ones attached to ventilators and IV lines and beating hearts monitored by machines.
“I’m not trying to risk anyone’s life,” she says, her voice softening just slightly- not weak, just human. “I need you to help me clear this place without causing panic. Let Agent Jareau, Agent Morgan, and I de-escalate this before anyone gets caught in any possible crossfire.”
Crossfire. The word doesn’t belong in a hospital hallway, it doesn't belong in his department. Not like this.
He studies her again. Really studies her this time; the exhaustion around her eyes, the faint tension in her jaw, the way she holds herself like someone used to carrying responsibility whether she wants to or not.
The scream tears through the corridor like glass shattering.
It’s high and shrill and wrong. And before Yn could even begin telling Robby anything about evacuation routes or controlled exits, she’s already moving. Gun is in her hand in one smooth motion, body racing toward the sound as her voice cracks through the ED like a whip.
“Everybody down! On the ground!”
People drop, instinct winning over pride. Monitors beep wildly, carts rattle and several people start crying.
By the time Yn and Robby reach the end of the corridor, Derek and JJ are already there, guns raised, shoulders squared, forming a sharp, thin line of protection between the threat and the huddled staff.
“Emma,” Robby breathes.
The name barely leaves his mouth.
The young nurse is trembling in the grip of a man who looks barely older than she is. Late twenties, pale, sweat slicking his hair to his forehead. His eyes are wide, too wide, flicking between the three agents before locking onto Robby like he’s personally offended by his existence.
“Get down!” he screams. The gun presses harder into Emma’s temple. “Get down!”
Yn glances over her shoulder at Robby. Just once. A small nod.
Trust me.
Robby lowers himself to the ground with the others, jaw tight, eyes already scanning- where’s Jack, where’s Jack-
“Come on,” Morgan says, voice steady, soothing, the kind you’d use on a cornered animal. “Let her go.”
“Please, please, just let-” Emma sobs as the barrel digs harder into her temple.
“Shut up!”
“Tyler,” JJ says gently, stepping forward inch by inch. “Holding her hostage isn’t going to help you.”
His head snaps toward her. “How do you know my name?” His grip tightens on Emma’s shoulder; she winces, tears spilling freely now. “Tell me how you know my name!”
He’s rattled. They can all see it.
“Those earphones,” he barks suddenly, eyes locking onto the white device hidden beneath JJ’s hair. “Take them off! Take them off!”
JJ’s gaze flickers to Yn, asking for confirmation, for leadership. Yn nods once and JJ slowly removes the earpiece, placing it carefully on the ground.
“Get out!” Tyler screams at her and Morgan, waving the gun wildly. The movement sends another ripple of panic through the department- people huddling tighter, prayers whispered under breaths.
“We can’t-”
“Get out!” His voice cracks, manic and sharp. “I just want Yn Ln here.”
The way he says her name is wrong.
“I’ll only talk to Yn Ln.”
The air changes.
It was tense before, thick with fear, but now it’s something else entirely- something personal, something targeted.
Robby feels it like a punch to the gut and Jack, somewhere across the room, feels it too. Because when a man with a gun asks for your soulmate by name, you're not just panicking anymore, something different, something feral wakes up inside you.
“JJ. Derek. Leave.” Yn commands, never taking her eyes off Tyler.
They hesitate, of course they do, but they obey.
“I want you out too,” Tyler snaps at hospital security. “And lock that door!”
One by one, the three security guards filter out. The silence grows heavier with every step, it presses down on everyone left behind, thick and suffocating and full of unspoken terror.
“Slide your gun to the left,” Tyler orders, breath coming faster now, almost panting. The more he stares at her, the more unhinged he looks. “Empty it first.”
Yn doesn’t argue.
She ejects the magazine, racks the slide- letting the bullets clatter loudly against the tile- then she lowers the weapon slowly and slides it across the floor toward a cluster of nurses who scramble backward like it’s still live.
“Your other gun too.”
Her head tilts slightly.
Someone has done their research.
She crouches, fingers disappearing beneath her jeans at the side of her ankle, retrieving the secondary weapon and repeating the process with the same unhurried precision.
Tyler laughs under his breath, manic delight creeping into his features. “Fucking Yn Ln,” he mutters. “All quiet now. How the fuck did you catch my brother with that dull head of yours?”
Jack recognizes the silence on her face, it’s not submission, it’s calculation- she’s mapping distances, counting faces, tracking exits, measuring how far she can lunge without the nurse taking a bullet. He just hopes she’s factoring herself into the equation.
“I don’t want to hear your voice anyway,” Tyler rambles. His words start tumbling over each other, logic slipping. “Throw me the knives you keep on you, and the keys to the cuffs.”
Yn pauses only to scan the room again; who’s closest to the exits, who’s too frozen to move, who’s young, who could help if needed. She memorizes it all.
“Now!” Tyler shrieks, spit flying. “Or I will shoot her!”
Emma looks seconds from fainting. She is too innocent for this. Everyone in this room is too innocent for this.
Yn complies. She sets the knives down carefully alongside the cuff keys. Never breaking eye contact, then sliding them with her hand towards him- her composure makes him twitchier- and as she straightens, her shirt rides up slightly. A flash of white beneath dark clothes caught Tyler's attention.
“What is that?” Tyler snaps, gun swinging toward her fully now.
If Emma wasn't still in his grip, Yn would’ve already thrown the small hidden pocket knife from her back pocket into his forehead.
“Just a bandage,” she says evenly. “An injury I got thanks to your brother.”
His breathing turns erratic.
“No. No, no, no.” His thoughts are spiraling, racing, eating themselves alive. “Take off your shirt.”
“It’s just-”
“Take it the fuck off!”
“For fuck’s sake,” she mutters.
She reaches back, gripping the back of the neckline, pulling the fabric over her head in one smooth motion. The silence that follows is different, still afraid, still tight, but now also stunned.
Robby’s breath leaves him entirely. He has never understood why soulmate names land where they do. Why fate chooses ribs for one, arm for another. Why his name rests on Jack’s thigh while Jack's name rests on his back. Yn’s name is inked into his ribs while his name is written neatly across the center of her back, just beneath the strap of her bra. Clean, deliberate letters. And on the back of her shoulder rests another name. Jack's.
Two names permanent and now visible for everyone in the ED to see.
Tyler’s eyes flick over her almost naked front, searching for weapons. Finding none, he continous his instructions.
“Put the cuffs on yourself,” he demands, voice growing steadier with every ounce of control he’s gaining. “Arms in front. Secure one wrist. I’ll come over with her and she can lock the other.”
It plays out exactly like that. Yn retrieves the cuffs from the back of her jeans where it sat in place in its utility pouch, snaps one around her left wrist as Tyler drags Emma forward, forcing her to finish the job. The nurse’s hands shake violently, whispered apologies echoed through the quiet as she clicks the second cuff into place. Yn gives her a steady, reassuring smile in response.
Tyler shoves Emma away. She stumbles, skidding across the floor before Dana is there instantly, dragging her back into safety.
“Let’s go, Agent,” Tyler sneers as he shoves Yn around.
“Let’s go," The cold barrel presses into the center of Yn’s spine. "Don’t worry, I’ll find your soulmates. Apologize to them before I kill them.”
The room goes still. Yn wants to break his teeth against the tile, instead, she tilts her head back slightly. Her eyes find Jack's. Black shirt, cargo military pants, colored eyes blazing. One look, that’s all it takes for him to understand what she needs. Distraction.
“Hey-”
Jack stands; brave, stupid and perfect.
Tyler whips the gun toward him, and that’s all Yn needed.
She pivots sharply on her left foot, twisting hard. Her right foot plants onto the floor as she grabs Tyler’s wrist, forcing the barrel downward toward her own thigh as she drops her weight to the ground.
The gunshot explodes through the department, the sound deafening. Pain detonates up her leg, white-hot and blinding, but she doesn’t stop- she can't. Before Tyler can process what just happened, her elbow slams into his jaw. His grip falters and the gun clatters away from his grip. She drives her uninjured leg upward using her knee, knocking him off balance, then flips them, her weight crashing onto his back.
Her right knee digs into his spine while her left boot pins his wrist.
The handcuffs, still attached to her wrists, loop up and over his throat. The chain presses hard against his airway. He chokes, gurgles and thrashes.
“Unlock the doors!” she roars to whoever would listen and move.
Her fists brace beside his ears as she adjusts pressure- just enough to cut air, not enough to kill. Tyler tries sliding his neck onto the floor- a poor attempt in clawing at the chain- eyes bulging now, all the manic confidence gone. Reduced to desperate, ugly gasps.
The sound of JJ and Derek crashing through the double doors barely registered over the roar of blood in Jack's ears.
“It’s okay, we got him,” JJ was saying, voice steady, as Tyler’s body sagged, consciousness slipping like sand through open fingers.
But Jack wasn’t looking at Tyler, he wasn’t seeing the agents taking control, or the cuffs being unlocked, or the way the ER began to reassemble itself into motion after those suspended, suffocating seconds. He was looking at her.
Yn staggered back on instinct, as if the moment the threat shifted away from her, her body allowed itself to fail. Blood pooled around her legs- too much, too fast- soaking into floor tiles that had seen everything and yet, somehow, never this. Not like this. Not hers.
For a split second, everything went quiet in Jack's head- not the room, the room was deafening, monitors screaming, shoes squeaking, Dana shouting for a gurney and someone calling for a trauma bay- but inside him there was nothing. Just a hollow, cavernous silence where his training should have been.
He had spent his entire life running towards blood, towards injured soldiers with gunfire flying over his head. But now, when he needed to do so the most, he couldn’t move. Robby was at his side before he realized he had crossed the distance. Neither of them touched her at first, they just stood there, two physicians rooted to the floor, staring at the crimson blooming across her leg like it wasn’t real. Like if they didn’t acknowledge it, it might reverse itself.
This can’t be happening.
Robby’s mind tried to compartmentalize, his mind screaming at him- entry wound, possible exit wound, femoral artery?- but every clinical thought fractured the second it collided with the truth; that was her blood. The woman whose name was etched into his skin, bleeding out on the floor and he couldn't even twitch his fingers. He couldn’t hear his own breathing over the thunder of his heartbeat.
He should be moving. He knew he should. Years of surgical precision and muscle memory were screaming at him to take control, to bark orders, to apply pressure and secure a line and stabilize her before she stops breathing.
The thought paralyzed him.
“Excuse me.”
Melissa King and Trinity Santos physically pushed past their attendings, their shoulders knocking into Robby’s chest and Jack's shoulder. Jack barely felt it and Robby barely registered the sharp edge of Santos’ voice as she cut through fabric, scissors slicing through denim soaked dark with red.
Dana arrived with the gurney, wheels rattling against tile as if even it understood the stakes.
“On three- one, two-”
Hands moved. JJ, Mel, Santos, and Jack lifted her.
Jack’s hands are steady when they touch her, he doesn’t know how, he can feel the warmth of her blood soaking through his fingers, and he wished that he never moved. Meanwhile, Robby realized too late that he hadn’t helped. That his arms had stayed at his sides while others carried her. The guilt hit him like a physical blow.
Yn’s head lolled as they transferred her. Her eyes- those steady, unflinching eyes that had held his in an argument about a possible bomb threat barely minutes ago- were unfocused now. Glassy and fighting.
“She’s starting to lose consciousness,” Jesse says. The sentence cracked something open inside them.
“Her breathing’s rapid and shallow,” Santos adds quickly, eyes flicking up between Jack and Robby as if they're supposed to anchor this. “She’s going into hemorrhagic shock.”
Hemorrhagic shock.
Robby had said those words to families before. Calmly and apologetically, but now they felt like a death sentence.
“Hey!” JJ snapped, fury crackling through her tone as she rounded on the older attendings. “What the hell are you standing there for? Do something!”
Robby opened his mouth but nothing came out, he couldn’t. Because the second he tried to step forward, the image of her going still- truly still- flashed behind his eyes and his body betrayed him. What if his hands shook? What if he missed something? What if he was the reason she-
You had one job. Protect her. And you failed.
Jack’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt. Every instinct told him to push everyone aside and take over, to anchor himself in procedure and numbers and sutures and clamps, but his mind wasn’t sharp- it was frayed. He wasn’t thinking like a surgeon or even an army medic, he was thinking like a man watching the person tethered to his soul bleed out in front of him.
If I touch her and I lose her, I won’t survive it.
The thought wasn’t rational, he knew that, but it was raw and ugly and honest.
Santos finally looked JJ dead in the eye.
“They can’t.”
JJ frowned. “What?”
Dana didn’t hesitate. “They're her soulmates.”
The words shifted the air in the room, understanding dawned slowly across JJ’s face, Derek’s expression tightened, anger dissolving into something heavier.
From the outside, it made terrible, awful sense- of course they couldn’t move, of course two brilliant doctors would freeze when the person tethered to their soul was bleeding out in front of them.
"Trauma two is ready." Doctor Al-Hashimi's voice echoed through the chaos.
They started moving- fast- wheels rattling violently as Jesse steered toward trauma. Santos and Mel kept pressure on the wound, calling out vitals in clipped bursts to doctor Walsh and doctor Garcia.
Robby walked beside the gurney but didn’t touch it, Jack did. Not to treat or to intervene, just to stay connected. Every step felt like walking a tightrope between rationality and collapse. They know that they should scrub in. They know that they should lead, but they also know that right now, if they saw her chest stop rising under surgical lights, something inside them would fracture beyond repair.
And as the trauma doors swung open and swallowed her from their view, the ER staff watched the two men left standing in the aftermath. Not useless, not weak- just undone.
Two physicians who could save anyone- except, maybe, the one person they longed for the most.
(Jack Abbot x fem!FBI!reader x Michael Robinavitch)
Soulmate au
Note: this is set in season 2, but as of right now we are still waiting on episode 8 to air, so i have no idea how season 2 ends yet or how anything is gonna go after episode 7- i am just letting my imagination run wild here. With a criminal minds crossover (borrowing the BAU for this, hope you guys don't mind.) You don't have to know anything about criminal minds to read this. Thank you.
Warnings: no medical accuracy whatsoever. no idea how the fbi works. poly soulmate au. reader doesn't have a name but it's hinted that her name is a boy's name / not common for girls - no name is mentioned. 5-7 years age gap. swearing. jealous robby. jealous jack.
wc◇3.3k
masterlist
Robby doesn’t remember when the name carved itself onto his ribs. There was no lightning strike, no dramatic swell of music, no sharp inhale where the world shifted on its axis. It must have happened quietly, the way most irreversible things do. One day his skin was only skin, and then one day it wasn’t.
Unlike Jack’s name, he remembers a time where Yn’s wasn’t there. He has proof of it, actually; sun-faded pictures from beach trips, his chest bare and golden under the light, smooth and untouched, a blank stretch of skin that would one day become a promise, a canvas waiting for her to paint it. Back then it was just his body, sunburnt and shared with only one person.
He didn’t even know it was a her.
There was always a possibility, of course, a quiet, almost embarrassing thought tucked into the back of his mind. But as he got older and met people with the same first name- people with the same first name, loud and ordinary and undeniably male- he folded that possibility up and shoved it out the nearest window. It was easier that way, easier to believe the universe was predictable and easier to focus on whatever felt urgent at the time- school, friends, scraped knees, growing pains. (He can’t even remember what had seemed so important back then. God, maybe old age really is catching up.)
But hey. At least he met one of his soulmates.
Jack, on the other hand, remembers everything.
He was five, small hands, untied shoelaces, knees permanently dusted in dirt, but he remembers it like a scene paused on a screen. The sun was too bright and the pavement too rough. The training wheels had just come off his bike, and then it happened.
He swears he felt it before he saw it. A strange warmth blooming along the inside of his forearm, like ink sinking into paper. He looked down just in time to watch the letters etch themselves into his skin, slow and deliberate, as if the universe itself had careful handwriting.
He crashed immediately after.
He can still remember the sting of gravel and the way his mother screamed his name, but not because he’d fallen, because she’d seen it too.
There’s a video somewhere in a box at his house, burried deep in the closet, with shaky footage. His father’s voice going sharp with disbelief. His mother crying and laughing at the same time and his five-year-old self holding up his arm like he’s just discovered fire.
Having two soulmates wasn’t unheard of, it wasn’t even rare, but he was the first in his family. The first to carry more than one name and that made it monumental. It was something that split his life into before and after.
He can recall that moment second by second , the heat, the letters, the fall. Because in a way, that’s when everything began.
Robby stared at the CEO of the hospital like the man had just announced that the sky was green.
Disbelief sat heavy in his chest. He looked around at his staff- the people who had survived night shifts, code blues, and whatever brand of chaos the Pitt decided to serve that week- and found their faces mirroring his own shock. His eyes caught Jack’s for half a second.
God. They are so fucked.
“Now,” the CEO continued, smoothing down his white patterned shirt as if that might smooth down the situation, “with the possibility of whoever it is that’s responsible for the attack wanting a ransom, we have contacted the FBI. They will be sending a unit here.”
FBI?
Holy shit.
The word moved through the department like a match dropped into a dry forest. The crackle of panic spreading through the wildfire. An FBI unit coming here wasn’t common. Not even with the mayhem the Pitt regularly unleashed. Not even on their worst days.
“Wait, why the FBI? Does Westbridge have FBI with them as well?”
That quieted the department real quick, it was the kind of silence that feels forced and fragile.
“Yes,” the man answered. “There might be someone with the terrorist organisation in the hospital.”
And just like that, the silence shattered.
Interns began muttering to each other in tight, anxious clusters. Residents and nurses turned, almost instinctively, toward Robby. Looking for answers. For reassurance. For leadership. And Robby? Robby was glaring at the CEO and at the woman he had met not even seven hours ago. Even if Dr. Al-Hashimi looked genuinely surprised, his glare didn’t waver.
“I’m pretty sure we said not to disclose any information until we get here.”
The voice cut through everything. It wasn’t loud, it didn’t need to be.
Tailored suit, badge clipped neatly onto the breast pocket of his blazer, tie perfectly in place, like he had stepped into a press conference instead of a crisis. His expression was controlled to the point of frightening, sharp eyes, faint frown, authority radiating off him in quiet, suffocating waves. He gestured to the younger man and woman following him, and they set their bags on the floor without a word.
“Hello, everyone,” he said, voice gruff and steady. His gaze swept across the room, cataloguing faces, reactions and fear. “My name is Aaron Hotchner. I am the Unit Chief of the BAU, also known as the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. Now that Mr. Norris has decided to let you all know why we’re here, you are safe. Special Agent Morgan and Special Agent Jareau are going to secure the department first and then search everyone-”
The murmurs began again. Louder this time. They were offended. And afraid.
“- Now, I need to speak to the head of this department.”
“Yes.”
“Of course.”
Robby glanced at his fellow attending, irritation slipping into his voice before he could stop it. “Haven’t you done enough?”
“This is your last shift, Dr. Robby. I will be-”
“So this is your first shift?” Agent Hotchner asked, cutting in smoothly as he turned his attention to the shorter female doctor.
“Yes, but I am-”
“Well, Doctor…” He let the word trail off, waiting.
“Dr. Al-Hashimi,” she replied, spine straightening. “Chief attending of this trauma center, who will be taking over when Dr. Robinavitch leaves.”
Aaron looked at the older man standing in front of him. For a split second something flickered across his face, a barely there expression- recognition. And then it was gone, smoothed over by years of FBI training.
“Well, no offense, Dr. Al-Hashimi. I’m sure you’re a great doctor and a great chief attending. But I need someone who has been here long enough to know the ins and outs of this department.”
His smile was professional. Polite and final.
Then he turned.
“Now, Dr. Robinavitch-”
“Robby, please.”
A pause. A shift almost too small to notice.
“Dr. Robby,” he corrected evenly, “would you mind telling Agents Morgan and Jareau every entrance and exit here? Along with any unused rooms or places that staff might take breaks in.”
The weight of it settled on Robby’s shoulders, responsibility layered over frustration, layered over the creeping realization that this day was not going to end quietly.
“Of course.”
As Robby walked the younger agents through corridors and back stairwells, pointing out exits and supply closets and the door no one used because it jammed in winter, Aaron stayed behind.
He answered questions, as many as he could anyway. Carefully measured and professionally vague where he had to be. He tried, and only half succeeded, in calming down the room.
“Agent Garcia, our Technical Analyst, is currently at Westbridge with two other agents,” he said, voice stead and controlled. “She’ll be working from there to get your system back as soon as possible.”
The words technical analyst and system back did little to soothe the tension.
James Ogilvie stepped forward, jaw tight. “If whoever did this is here, isn’t what you’re saying potentially helping them?”
“You worry about your job, I'll worry about mine.” Aaron replied evenly, not raising his voice, not blinking and not even looking at the med student's direction.
And that was that. The conversation ended not with resolution, but with silence- a thick, suffocating silence that seemed to soak into the shiny white floors and hum beneath the fluorescent lights. Everyone stood there, absorbing the reality of it all. FBI. Search. Possible insider. It was all too much. Too fast.
Robby turned, exhaling slowly, and made his way back toward Jack just as the two agents he’d been guiding finished strapping on their Kevlar vests, the sound tearing through the quiet. They checked their firearms with practiced ease before splitting off in opposite directions.
“Look who the cat dragged in.”
Agent Morgan’s voice boomed through the department, warm and amused and entirely too loud for the fragile atmosphere. Every head turned toward the entrance.
She walked in like she belonged there. Like she owned the space she stepped into. Duffel bag slung over her shoulder, face focused yet unbothered.
“Agent YN LN,” Morgan continued with a grin, “couldn’t even take a twelve hours off, huh?”
The world stopped. For Robby and for Jack, their world stopped. YN LN. Their soulmate. YN LN is a woman. Female. Despite the name, despite the years of doubt and despite every boy Robby had met and every assumption he had forced himself to accept.
And all they could do was stare.
She offered a tired smile, saying something to Morgan that neither of them could hear over the sudden thunder of their own heartbeats. She moved forward and pulled Agent Jareau into a brief hug, easy and familiar.
They took in every detail like they were afraid she might disappear if they blinked. Black half-sleeve shirt, tucked neatly into dark blue jeans along with black combat boots, worn but polished. Her badge clipped to the waistband, swaying slightly with each step. She looked steady. She looked real. She was real. Right in front of them.
“Morgan.” Agent Hotchner’s voice cut in, sharp enough to rein him back. He fixed his subordinate with a look before his gaze shifted to her, immediately softening. “Sorry to call you in. I know you’re tired, but we need you here.”
“It’s fine,” she said.
And God. Her voice. Steady with confidence, yet soft and kind. Controlled in a way that suggested she’d seen worse than this and survived it.
“Rossi filled me up to speed on the phone.”
She moved toward the two duffel bags already placed on the floor, adding hers to the small pile before crouching down, efficient and focused. She pulled out a Kevlar vest and secured it around herself without hesitation, hands practiced and precise.
“Everyone,” Aaron announced, drawing the room’s attention once more, “this is Agent YN LN. She will be searching everyone here, making sure that there are no weapons- that includes patients as well.”
And Robby could only stand there, pulse roaring in his ears, staring at the name he had carried on his ribs for years finally given a face.
The room started moving again.
Charts were picked up. Gurneys rolled past. Nurses resumed arguing over the location of manual charts in hushed, tense voices. If you squinted- if you deliberately ignored the two figures moving methodically from person to person- you could almost pretend this was a normal day at the Pitt. A normal day without a system.
Screw that. This was a mess.
The bold yellow FBI letters stamped across the back of Kevlar stood out too much, too sharp and too foreign. Not like Jack’s vest, the one they were used to seeing, the one that blended into the controlled chaos of trauma medicine. These were different. Federal and intrusive.
“Don’t worry.”
Yn’s voice cut cleanly through the small cluster of Dana, Robby, Jack, Santos, and Whitaker. Calm and gentle, entirely at odds with the tension curling through the department.
“It’s just procedure. I know none of the doctors or nurses have a weapon, but I have to follow protocol.”
Her tone softened further as she directed it toward Mel, who stood rigid with wide eyes and restless hands. Mel’s gaze darted instinctively toward her senior attendings and her charge nurse, silently asking if this was really happening.
“It’s okay, hon'.” Dana offered a reassuring smile.
Robby and Jack nodded in sync.
Yn offered Mel the faintest smile before moving on, efficient but careful, respectful in the way she patted down the younger girl's scrubs, understanding how violating it could feel.
“Doctor Robby.”
Aaron’s voice sliced through again, the sharpness of it made the young blonde tense where she stood.
“Can I have a word in private?”
It was shaped like a question but it wasn’t. He was already moving before Robby could answer, posture straight, steps purposeful, not bothering to look back. The expectation of compliance hung in the air.
“What’s this about?”
Jack stepped forward without thinking. He didn’t like the way Agent Hotchner expected Robby to simply follow. Didn’t like the implication of secrecy, and whatever this was, whatever could possibly require privacy, would reach his ears in ten minutes anyway.
Jack Abbot didn’t scare easy. Not before the military, not after, and certainly not when it concerned his soulmate.
“It’s something that concerns me and Doctor Robby,” Aaron replied evenly. “So, Doctor, if you would please cooperate with Agent YLN, it would be appreciated.”
Robby had caught it then. The flicker- the brief look that had crossed Aaron’s face earlier when he heard his government last name. The name that sat on her skin. The one that connected them on paper and on body alike.
“It’s fine.” Robby turned to Jack, offering a steady look. He was a big guy. He could handle himself. And an FBI agent wasn’t what had his pulse racing right now. At least not this FBI agent.
“He should join.” The finality in Robby’s voice was enough to make Aaron pause.
“You’d want him to join,” Robby added.
The break room door shut with a muted click. Robby moved automatically toward the coffee machine, muscle memory guiding him as Jack leaned back against the door, arms crossed, stance protective.
“I’m going to assume your name is Jack Abbot.” Aaron’s gaze settled on the war veteran.
“Yeah,” Jack replied flatly. “Now wanna tell me what the hell is going on?”
The reply was directed at Aaron but the question was directed at Robby, who still had his back turned, focused on pouring coffee into a paper cup.
“He wants to talk about Yn,” Robby said calmly, handing one cup to Jack before finally turning toward the third man. “Black?”
“No, thank you.”
Aaron exhaled slowly, composure still firmly in place.
“I do,” he confirmed. “And I’m sorry, but as long as this is an active case and Yn is here as part of the BAU, she cannot know that you two are her soulmates.”
Silence.
“The hell-”
“She wears her soul ring,” Aaron continued evenly. “She can’t focus on protecting everyone else if she’s too busy thinking about you two.”
Soul rings, an unspoken language. Not government-mandated, not institutionalized. Just something people had done for centuries, a quiet declaration to the world. A simple band, no designs and no stones- gold or black- worn on the left hand, any finger, it didn’t matter which. It meant one thing; I’m waiting, I'm not settling down without you. And when you meet your soulmate, wedding bands stack on top of it. A visible timeline of devotion, patience and hope.
The image hits them both at once.
Yn- tactical, composed, FBI agent Yn Ln- wearing a plain band because she’s waiting. For them. Only them.
Heat crawls up Robby’s neck before he can stop it. His fingers instinctively curl around the black band hanging from the chain beneath his scrubs. And across from him, his soulmate wasn't doing much better. Jack’s ears turn an unmistakable shade of pink as he twists the black band already sitting on his finger. God. They feel like teenagers, hormonal and ridiculous. And yet, Aaron’s words don’t sit right with them.
“No.” Jack shakes his head firmly. “We want to let her know now.”
“I can’t allow that.” Aaron’s tone hardens, expression sharpening into something immovable. “You’d be putting everyone at risk. Yn is here as a favor. She took down a serial killer on her own less than ten hours ago and still showed up. If she ever knows that you’re within a ten-mile radius of this hospital, let alone inside it, whatever energy and focus she has left will fracture.”
His jaw tightens slightly.
“That would put you at risk. It would put her at risk. And I can’t afford that.”
The firmness in his voice isn’t cold, it’s protective. And Robby and Jack both notice it, the familiarity in the way he says her name. Not possessive. Not intimate. But deeply accustomed, the kind that comes from years of partnership. The only thing that settles the storm inside is the black band wrapped around Aaron’s wedding finger, topped neatly with a silver wedding ring; he’s not waiting. He already found his, and right now he’s making sure Yn survives long enough to meet hers.
Back at the central station, Yn had the sudden, almost overwhelming urge to wrap Mel in blankets and sit her down with warm tea. She looked like deer in headlights, wide-eyed and frozen. Trying very hard to look calm while the world tilted just slightly off balance. Yn had already moved on to Santos, offering a quiet apology as she repeated the same procedure she’d done a dozen times in the last ten minutes.
“It’s okay,” Santos shrugged, straightening up yet acting like this was mildly inconvenient at worst. She looked bored, or maybe exhausted. Hard to tell in an ER. “Not my first time being patted down by a hot lady.”
The two new interns choked.
“Ohhh,” Yn chuckled, glancing up from where she was crouching down, checking Santos’s pant legs. “Careful, kid. I could be your mum.”
“Please,” Dana scoffed from beside them, handing a stack of files to a nurse who’d already been cleared. “You’re like, what - thirty? Thirty-five?”
Yn laughed. It wasn’t polite. It wasn’t restrained. It was full-bodied and warm and entirely too genuine for a department currently under FBI rules. The sound turned heads.
“Thank you,” she said, straightening up. “But I am way older than that.”
“Bullshit.”
“You’re good, Doctor,” Yn said lightly, stepping back and giving Santos a nod before turning toward Dana. “Try forty-five.”
“Shut up.” No one in the ER had ever seen Trinity Santos this stunned. “I wish I look like that when I’m old.”
Yn opened her mouth to reply, but before she could Robby’s voice carried across the floor, gruff and tired. Commanding in a way that didn’t need to shout to be heard.
“Okay, everyone, here’s how it’s going to work-”
Yn’s spine straightened automatically at the sound. She didn’t mean to tune him out. But she did. Because the moment his voice settled into explanation mode, calm, methodical, leading his people through crisis like he’d done a hundred times before, something in her chest shifted. She moved toward the left side of the station, focusing on unfamiliar faces. Doctors she didn’t recognize. A tech she hadn’t cleared yet.
“Excuse me,” she said softly, stepping in front of Jack.
God. That voice. Jack could fall asleep to it. Could let it pull him under into something warm and steady and entirely free of the nightmares that still woke him in the middle of his sleep.
“I’m gonna-”
“He’s clear.”
The interruption came sharp and immediate. Aaron Hotchner. Jack had never hated a man more in his life, not even the one who’d blown his leg off.
“Him and Doctor Robby are clear,” Hotchner added, already scanning the room for the next body to move toward.
Yn paused. Her gaze flickered between them.
“Um, sure.” She offered Jack a small, almost an apologetic smile before stepping back.
The distance felt wrong, too much yet not enough. She moved away, Jack watched her go and Robby kept talking. The department adjusted and the case continued.
summary: RT-64 used to be a radio-telescope monitoring little robots on Venus. Now, the world has ended, it's winter, and you're looking for a shelter. The owls remain indifferent. You are not alone, though. Kim Mingyu has been watching you.
genre: horror, supernatural, soulmates
word count: 5,8k
warnings: they're stressed af, that's pretty much it
a/n: sooo i rewatched most of gose over the past weeks, i am totally free of my time for the first time in years and roamed @chocoreads recommendations, reread a few of my old stories for svt, was stuck with my naruto ones, and this sort of happened. Here's a tribute to my love of apocalyptic aus, Mingyu's every-striking competence, winter, David Lynch and engineering. Those pictures were the direct inspiration of the setting.
And a most delightful year to all of you!
1. Observed
It was astonishing to think that such immense constructions could be utterly silent, you thought, craning your neck. The snow, pristine, had covered everything long ago. There were surely birds of prey going about their winter business, but the dense firs surrounding the area muffled the sound of their wingbeats. Besides, you were fairly sure you’d once read that owls had special wings, built for silence. More importantly, you had nothing to fear from owls.
Far, far overhead, the radio-telescope’s antenna dome vanished into the low sky. The snowflakes had stopped falling, but it was only a lull. The curve of the thing had caught a skirt of snow at its base, a clean slash against the filthy grey metal. Half-paying attention, you thought the view from up there must look like some great white animal, with a mane of green so dark it was black, and big glassy eyes fixed on the cosmos.
You shook yourself out of it and headed for the two-storey base. Skirting the round fence, you finally found the door. Didn’t look like anyone had forced it, judging by the still-intact windows. Not that it meant much. The RT-64 array was remote. The Venus robots were old news. And people? People were scarce now.
You weren’t precisely afraid of being spotted in such a remote place, but the betraying crunch of your snow boots got under your skin anyway. In the muffled silence, the noise was deafening. You reasoned that the trees muffled everything, you included, but the feeling of being watched just sat there, persistent.
Shoving your gloved hand down on the handle, the door gave with a grudging scrape, the kind a door makes when it’s been left alone, and started to open. Snow piled against it. You kicked at the fresh powder, widening the gap bit by bit, not looking in, just watching the ridge of snow grow as you cleared a path.
As you stood behind the door, trying to open it as wide as possible, it occurred to you that was exactly the sort of heedlessness that got people killed. A shiver ran through you, deep under your layers. You went still. Frozen, both hands on the handle and your gaze fixed on the snow in the door’s shadow. Inside was the unknown. Not just emptiness, but potential. Life with its own mind, or the cold end of things.
You meant to be silent, but your jaw went slack, pulling in a sharp breath. All of this might be a serious mistake. Your heart was going now, a pounding in your ears the snow couldn’t dull. You bit your lip. Stopped. Let your mouth hang open again.
You could not panic now. You had opened the door, cleared the way, wasted the short daylight on the journey. If someone was inside, they knew you were here. If something was inside, you could only hope it wouldn’t clock you before nightfall.
Your hands felt cold and damp inside their gloves. Your heart was throwing itself against your ribs and your legs wouldn’t move, so you told yourself you’d decided to stay put. To wait for a reaction from within. To see if anything in there stirred.
You noticed the light was going. The snow wasn’t so blindingly white. The sun was dipping. You could still sleep outside. Two nights prior proved you could. The tinned food in your pack would see you through another, wrapped in your suit, with that familiar ache of fermented cabbage and beans. But the firs were less suited for climbing than the bare beeches. And the thought of another exposed night made your courage falter. None of this seemed to disturb the owls.
Your body still refused to move.
Had you even checked for tracks? You couldn’t remember. But the door hadn’t been opened in days. If anyone was holed up in there, they’d come out on a clear day like this. Get some air. Keep from going stir-crazy.
No people, then.
And if no people had been here for a long while, then nothing that preyed on people had reason to be here either.
All at once, you let out a breath you’d been holding, lifted your chin, let go of the handle, and stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind you. It closed with a soft thud, quieter than you’d braced for. Maybe your ears were still full of the sound of your own blood.
It took a moment for your eyes to adjust. Dark in the entrance, despite the windows. Nothing was as bright as direct snow-light. You hovered, unsure whether to stamp your boots clean. Better safe. The woods had just reminded you you weren’t being safe enough. You fumbled a hand-crank torch from your chest pocket and moved from the doorway into the first room.
The story here was the same as every other forgotten military site. The rushed evacuation of non-essential sites to the hot zones. Mugs with dregs of coffee gone furry with mould. You did a loop of the ground floor. Fine. In the middle, a lift shaft and stairs going up one floor, down two. Nothing monstrous would take the lift, but you shoved a table in front of the stairwell anyway. The proper supplies would be below. But you’d had enough feeling for one day. Cabbage and beans would do. Tomorrow was soon enough to go poking around in the dark.
2. Changed
Things had slipped right out of Mingyu’s grasp. It only took a moment for him to ditch almost all his usual caution. Hearing footsteps in the station, he’d just dropped behind the ticket counter and held his breath.
Train schedules meant nothing. But the detailed local maps – those were gold. Especially when every stretch of landscape looked exactly like the last one. Gloves dangling from his wrists, fingers turning numb as he scoured the cupboards for papers, anything, that he could bring back to the others. Anything that might tip the odds of survival in their favour.
All those hours spent in the gym had finally paid off. Him and his friends were some of the last ones standing around here. Sure, they’d had to bolt from the capital – how Jeonghan had figured how to hot-wire cars was still a mystery, but Mingyu had been too busy flooring it to complain. But now, away from the epicentres, with the storm over and the monsters gone, and things were looking up.
Winter here cut deep. A decent number in the town had survived, but most packed up at first thaw and headed south. Easier to feed yourself where things grow. Mingyu and Jihoon had argued to stay. Fewer people meant less trouble.
The old garrison towns were a saving grace, though – supplies cached everywhere, underground networks as tangled as the streets, and, in a real pinch, stockpiles of weapons whose purposes Mingyu could only half-guess.
Crouched behind the counter, watching his hands grow colder by the second, Mingyu wondered who had just walked into the station. What freak chance had brought another soul to this town he’d called home for over a year, a place where he and his friends had been the only residents for three seasons straight.
Was it even reasonable to think someone had just arrived, fleeing some other hell to wash up here? But fleeing what? Everyone who was going to die from the creatures was already dead. To flee from other men, you’d need a vehicle. But no one had heard an engine rip through the valley’s silence. Could they all have missed it? No. Someone was always awake. Someone would have heard.
That left only two options. Either the person had come on foot. Which, with the three measly hours of daylight they got now, bordered on miraculous. Or they had always been here. Keeping quiet. Staying hidden. That was the more sensible option. It still made Mingyu’s skin crawl.
Who the hell was here at dawn? Who could be here? Alone, trying to make contact was just asking for trouble.
He listened to the calm footsteps, the gritty crunch of snow caught between boot and tile. No pause in the stride. He heard them clearly, crossing the station hall, moving parallel to his counter. From the entrance to the exit for the tracks. Then, nothing. The steps stopped.
Mingyu’s heart beat three times, hard and too loud in his ears. He pressed his hands against his face, to hide the sound of his breathing, to hold it in. His fingers were ice. When his cold fingers dug into his skin, he felt they were slick with sweat.
When was the last time Mingyu had been truly scared?
“You have got to be kidding me.”
Mingyu froze solid. The voice wasn’t loud, but the little station was so bone-empty that the annoyed sigh carried straight to him. Another step.
“Give me a break, would you?”
It made zero sense. She wasn’t talking to him. A sharp rrrrrip of velcro. Then, faint but clear: knock, knock.
Had she just knocked on the door? Like someone was going to answer? Then Mingyu understood. The automatic doors wouldn’t open.
But then that made even less sense. The trains stopped running ages ago. Why would anyone need to get out there?
A long sigh. “Alright. Fine.”
Finally, Mingyu heard the distinct sound of a zip being opened, someone digging in a bag, the focussed rustle of a person on a task. Banking on a sliver of luck, he decided to chance a look. He pushed up on his thighs, raised his head just above the desk, enough to peer over the counter’s ledge, through the smeared glass that once kept passengers on the other side.
A few metres away, crouched down like he was, was a figure in a ski suit so vivid it’d stand out in a blackout. The stranger was on the floor, carefully slotting pieces of wood together. Mingyu allowed himself a few more heartbeats. Just to watch.
Suddenly, the scratchy fabric of his own glove rasped against the soft skin inside his wrist. Without looking away, Mingyu rubbed the spot with his thumb. The burning sensation didn’t fade. Wondering what kind of bug could have survived the freezing cold, he settled back into a more comfortable crouch, leaving the stranger to her work.
Mingyu was left-handed. It was a fact that had never bothered him, just another truth about himself. Mingyu was left-handed, Mingyu lisped when his thoughts outran his mouth, Mingyu was the tall one, Mingyu usually figured things out. On the inside of his right wrist, the little owl etched into his skin, motionless forever, had taken flight and vanished.
Mingyu was left-handed, he had a mark on the inside of his right wrist he hadn’t really noticed in a while, had mourned and moved on from even longer ago. A useless mark for a useless hand. But it was gone.
The smell of smoke dragged him back to the station.
“Sorry for letting you down,” said the voice from beyond the counter. “Let’s meet again someday.”
She left. Mingyu counted to twenty before standing up. Was this why he’d survive? The old stories rang into his ears. Fate. Love. Happy ever after. Was this it? When was the last time he’d met a woman? Was looking at her back enough to trigger the mark? He’d always thought it was supposed to be a proper encounter, that passing by people in the street wouldn’t be enough for the mark to disappear. And now, for the first time in months, he’d taken one quick look at some stranger’s back, and it was gone.
Whatever the stranger had built, she’d set it on fire. A pathetic little pyre near the automatic doors. The pale winter sun, hitting the flames, made them look even smaller. Mingyu had seen things like that before. The locals’ way of paying their respect. They were supposed to do it in meaningful places. Not in an impersonal place like that. Maybe she’d ran out of options.
Despite every instinct telling him not to, Mingyu stepped out of the station and began to follow the teal-and-purple figure, advancing with purpose through the snow.
3. Encountered
Your fingers were kneading your scalp when the knocks came.
Everything inside you froze.
Slowly, you took your hands out of your hair and clamped them over your mouth and nose. No one outside could hear you breathe, you knew that. You inhaled the scent of your own scalp, your breath, warm and stale, and let it ground you. Let you think.
It was so easy, wasn’t it? To know you were here. Every single footprint in the snow as bright as a neon sign.
A few seconds later, the knocking came again. Harder. The metal door deadened the sound. You didn’t have a key. You’d opened it fine earlier, it swung outward. The little desk you’d shoved in front of it had only given you the feeling of safety. You really should’ve just holed up in a town flat. Your hand went to your necklace. There was never any real way to know if these things worked. But you wore it like your parents before you, and, unlike a lot of others, you were still alive.
When the noise came for the third time, you stopped being an idiot. Did the horrors knock before they came in? You rolled your eyes. Was it even possible to be this stupid? A human, on the other hand… A human you could deal with.
You ignored the feeling your lungs were about to rip through your ribs. Slow, you got up from the chair, careful your thighs didn’t shove it back and scrape. You took each step like the floor was glass. Your hands were probably clammy again but you were past noticing. There was just the now, the need to be nothing, and the wild, pointless hope of not being seen.
For the first time, you wished you’d bothered with a rifle. Never needed one to hunt, weren’t sure they worked on the horrors anyway. Sure, the army had taught you the basics, but when your job was just fussing over radar, you didn’t need to be a crack shot.
When you got to the door you leaned on the wall, face close to the seam. It was airtight, supposed to be, but maybe you’d hear something anyway. As you leaned, the open zipper on your suit collar tapped the doorframe. A tiny tink. You heard it. So did someone else.
From the other side, a whisper. “Hey. You gonna open up? It’s gonna be fucking freezing soon.”
Could you? Could you let him in? Did he follow you? Was he just passing, coming back from hunting, saw your tracks by the scopes? How long had he been on your trail? Was he following, or was he hunting?
You ran your tongue over your lips. “How many?”
The answer shot back certain. “Just me.”
Could be true. Or maybe he knew that was the only answer you’d take, that there were more waiting outside, and truth wasn’t part of the plan. No way to know.
Or it really was just one guy, wanting in from the cold. When was the last time you’d even seen someone?
“Door’s open,” you admitted.
You saw the handle turn. The door started to swing out. From where you were you couldn’t see what was in the gap. You didn’t move the table. The door kept opening. Then a head appeared, slightly above yours.
Scarf pulled up to his cheekbones. Grey beanie down to his eyebrows. A snow suit that was army, no question, all greys and whites in the moonlight. When your eyes met, his hand came up, thumb jabbing at his own chest.
“Mingyu,” he whispered, quick. “Can I come in?” He asked again, and tipped his chin at the table blocking his way.
You shrugged. You moved, grabbing your side of the table as he took his. You dumped it out of the way. As Mingyu turned to shut the door, a sharp burn fired across your lower back. Seriously? Now?
You must have made a face, because before he’d even come closer, Mingyu was asking “Hey, you alright?”
The pain was gone as fast as it came. Just a warning cramp. At least you still had stuff to deal with it when it got bad. You ignored him.
You sat back down slowly. The conversation ahead was already exhausting. Mingyu fidgeted, hands in pockets, then out. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with his own body, like he wasn’t used to his own height. How was this guy alive? He didn’t seem to know what to focus on, looking around everywhere, shooting you regular glances in the gloom. In case you’d changed your mind and decided to lunge?
You kept staring at him. He wasn’t equipped for hunting. This might all be a mistake. But what choice did you really have? Finally, Mingyu seemed to accept things, pulled up a chair, and sat across from you. He tugged his scarf down and held his beanie in his lap.
“How come you’re out here?”
“Why did you follow me?” you shot back dryly.
He opened his mouth. Shut it. His hands tightened around his beanie. You could see his thoughts playing out on his face. Weighing the pros and cons. Truth or lie? With a face that open, he was probably crap at lying. Or maybe he was just rusty. When was the last time you’d told a lie?
“I saw you at the station,” he finally said, to his hands. You stiffened. He’d followed you all day? “Don’t see people often, so…” He shrugged. “Sorry,” he added. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t scare me,” you replied automatically. It was a lie and it was the truth. Everything was scary now.
He was quiet for a little while. Outside, the moon, as usual, was making its quiet lap around the Earth.
“Don’t you want to turn a light on?” Mingyu finally asked.
“Haven’t found the generator yet.”
“You been to the basement? Usually they’re—”
“I know where you put a generator,” you cut him off. “I haven’t been down to the basements yet.”
“Want to go now?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
You gave him a baffled look. Wasn’t it obvious? “It’s been ages since anyone was here. If something’s hiding down there, I’d rather be sharp when I find it.”
Now Mingyu was the one staring. He didn’t seem to get it. He frowned, but his eyes were fixed on yours.
“There’s nothing down there, you know.” He said the words like he was carrying a box full of porcelain.
“How can you be sure?”
“We’ve scoured the area pretty good. No one’s left. We think those horrors follow people. No people, no horrors.”
The same thought had occurred to you before, so you spared him a condescending reply. “We?”
“Me and the guys. We’ve been in town a while.” His look softened. “You could come with us, if you want,” he added quietly.
“Do they know you’re here?”
Mingyu hesitated. “No.”
Liar. “I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true. I was alone at the station.”
“So you just wandered off and left your mates? Not exactly reassuring,” you commented, in a tone you hoped sounded light.
What you didn’t say out loud was that he’d followed you, on a whim, for hours, without even knowing where you were headed. This guy was unhinged. You felt the blood pounding in your ears.
Mingyu ran a hand through his hair. Black, overgrown. “Yeah, I didn’t really think it through. I hope they’re not too worried,” he mumbled, even quieter.
Then—another knock. You startled hard in your seat, gaze whipping to the cause. At one of the windows, silhouetted against the night’s glow, was the unmistakable shape of an owl, watching you. Your blood went cold. Owls were indifferent
4. Chased
This was not going well. A proper disaster, more like. Sure, he hadn’t exactly thought it through, and yeah, he’d heard before, in another life, that these meetings didn’t always go to plan. Even so, Mingyu hadn’t imagined that his main concern upon meeting the person apparently meant to change his life would be whether she was going to knife him or let him see another day.
You were terrified of him, sat there rigid on your chair, and he had to give you credit—you had serious nerve to keep talking to him. Your hand kept drifting up to your neck. Above your roll-neck, Mingyu could see the line of a necklace, some sort of charm maybe. He wondered if you even knew you were doing it.
When something tapped the window, you jumped so hard Mingyu was sure you hadn’t noticed he’d flinched too. Then your face just shut down, eyes as wide as the owl’s staring you both out. Mingyu breathed in. Breathed out. It was unsettling, but Mingyu had always liked owls. He wondered if you did too, or if you’d come to hate the thing on your skin.
There was no doubt that for you, too, it was an owl that had flown away upon seeing Mingyu. The grimace that had flickered across your face, the obvious but fleeting pain you’d felt—it could only be that. You clearly hadn’t worked it out yet. But Mingyu could sort that, probably. Once he was sure you weren’t going to stab him, he’d clear things up.
Suddenly, you pushed back your chair.
“Right,” you said, snatching your beanie off the table.
You jammed it on as you stood. Bad sign.
“Hey—what are you doing?”
You hardly looked at him. “I’m off. You can stay.”
“What?” Mingyu was on his feet too. No, no, no, no. This was the worst idea.
He started after you as you moved purposefully around the room. You grabbed your bag from the floor. “Where are you going?”
“Out.”
“What? But why?”
“Not staying with you,” you stated, hand flat on the door.
One shove and the station opened onto the night. Mingyu halted. Seriously? You were just going to leg it?
“Wait, why?”
You turned and nailed him with a murderous look. “You’re a freak.”
When you’d taken two steps outside, Mingyu knew he had to follow. So he did, hissing in panic.
“Hey, I’m not crazy! You’ll freeze out here!”
“You’ll freeze. I’ll be fine.” You didn’t even bother turning round now.
Mingyu stretched his stride. There were few things more annoying than having to run in snow.
Thankfully the moon made everything eerily bright. He couldn’t just let you stay out here, could he? This was fate. He was here, he was alive, so you could stay alive, right? There had to be rules, some kind of code, that meant he couldn’t let you just vanish into the wilds like this? And even if there weren’t, Mingyu wasn’t having you die such a stupid death when finally something normal had happened to him.
He shot out a hand and caught your wrist. You were both so caught up in your movements that the tug spun you round, and Mingyu got a full view of your twisted expression as you spat the words at him.
“Get off me!”
“Why now?” he asked. “Can’t we just wait for first light? I won’t tail you anymore,” he added, not really meaning it. “Or you could come with me. There’s room. Better than being all alone, isn’t it?”
“Don’t talk to me about better.”
“Alright, alright. But can’t it wait till morning?”
“I’m not being shut in with you.”
“But why? What did I do?”
“You followed me all day? Ditched your mates for this?”
“I told you, I wasn’t thinking! Can we not just talk inside?”
"No,” you started wrenching your arm again. “Owls don’t lie,” you bit out.
That threw Mingyu so much his grip slackened for a second. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that stupid owl had no business turning up to gawp at us,” you snarled, each word strained with the effort of trying to break free. Mingyu had never worked so hard to make someone stay. “But it did... And I’m not hanging around waiting for you to lose the plot!”
You both realised at the same moment you’d stopped even pretending to whisper. The knowledge froze you both solid, in the forest’s silence, two taut figures under the hulking shadow of the radio telescope. The thing might be out of use,but there were other things in the dark that could hear. Suddenly, Mingyu wasn’t so sure the horrors had left when the crowds did. And what were the two of you standing here for, if not to make a crowd?
He leaned in closer, your wrist still in his hands, and dropped his voice to the lowest whisper.
“Alright, I didn’t tell you the full story.” He felt you tense to pull away and rushed on. “My mark. It disappeared when I saw you, back at the station. That’s why I came.”
For a second, you just blinked at him.
“You still believe in that? You’re not right in the head.” A brutal twist of your elbow finally got your arm loose. Put a step of snow between him and you.
“It’s real,” Mingyu whispered, simple as that. “I saw you. With your little fire. My mark burned out. It’s gone.”
“Don’t care. Where is it, then? Go on, spin me a tale. Doesn’t make it true.”
“You know how it works. They go when you meet.”
“I know. And isn’t that handy? No mark, no proof. But me? I’d have no way of knowing if you’re full of it.”
“Yours is gone too. Since I walked in.”
Your eyes went slitty. “How do you figure that?”
“I know. You pulled a face,” Mingyu said. Even hushed, his lisp slipped out. If you’d just believe him, if you’d both just get back inside. “You felt it too. I know you did.”
You straightened up. “So what? That’s all past. Doesn’t mean a thing now.”
Mingyu thought of the sad little fire you’d built for ghosts at the station. The charm you kept touching, even now, your suit still unzipped at the throat.
“Seem pretty wrapped up in the past to me,” he observed.
“You don’t know me,” you said again, the words barely there.
Mingyu tipped his head back in frustration, and caught the shadow of an owl passing overhead.
“Alright. Humour me, then. What was yours?”
You ignored his answer, head turning left and right, searching in the forest.
“We’ll say it together. On three. One, two, three. An owl.”
“An owl,” you said, utterly calm, glancing around.
Mingyu said nothing. He already knew.
You still weren’t looking at him. “It’s meaningless,” you commented. “You’re obviously fairly lucky.”
Mingyu considered letting it drop. But he pictured the owl that had watched over his entire life. You were standing right in front of him. Didn’t he owe it to keep trying? You were right here. You were scared. You were alone. You were clearly sharp enough to have survived this long solo, while Mingyu had always had the others. Was he insisting for his own sake, chasing some pathetic scrap of a story that might end okay? Or was he doing it for you, some misguided pity for another lost cause?
Your fingers went to your necklace. In the moonlight, it looked like a string of claws. You were clumsier with the pendant now, and Mingyu clocked you hadn’t bothered with your gloves; your fingers were stiff with cold. You squeezed the charm in your fist one final time before zipping your suit collar shut.
“You should go back, Mingyu.”
“What?”
“I’m not spending the night with you. So you’d better get under cover.”
“Hey.” Mingyu said your name for the first time. “What are you doing? Give it a rest, yeah? Why don’t you just check for yourself that your mark’s gone?”
You fixed him with a fresh, devastating look of are-you-kidding-me. Maybe it would be less awful if you were looking at him like that in some place warm. Maybe if Mingyu played his cards halfway right, he could even get used to it.
“Are you thick? I’m not getting my kit off out here.”
Ah. Right. There was a new edge in your voice. Mingyu felt his ears grow hot. It hadn’t crossed his mind that not everyone’s mark was in such a convenient spot.
“Sorry, I swear I won’t look.”
“You’re not right! I’ll freeze solid!”
“I thought you weren’t going to die out here?” Behind his scarf, Mingyu couldn’t help a wry smirk tugging at his mouth.
You gave him a once-over, hands cupped over your mouth. Your breath plumed white in the air. You had to know, same as him, you couldn’t last the night out here like this.
“I show you, you back off?”
Mingyu briefly raised his hands in surrender. “You’ll get a quiet night.”
You let out a sigh. It didn’t sound like the noise Mingyu wanted attached to his victory. He crouched as you roughly unzipped your suit to your waist.
Hands over his eyes, he listened, gaze fixed on the snow, to the rustle and scrape as you wrestled the suit off your shoulders. Just how much did you have to strip down? Was he pushing it? Couldn’t he have just slept outside and come back tomorrow? But you were the one who decided to bolt, right? You never asked him to do this. Mingyu stifled a smile. Wasn’t that proof already that you were looking out for him?
“There,” your voice came, dry and closer than he expected.
He looked up. You’d moved nearer and turned your back to him. Your hand was hooked awkwardly behind you, hiking up your jumper and the layers under it.
“See for yourself.”
Mingyu didn’t need to stand. He took the fabric where you held it, exposing the skin at the small of your back, puckered with gooseflesh. He watched your stiff fingers trace vertebrae before stopping, sliding to the left.
“There’s nothing there,” he informed you.
You turned your head just enough to catch his eye from the corner of yours. A few heartbeats passed, frozen. Mingyu didn’t know what you were waiting for, but he let go of your clothes, patting them back into place.
You slid your arms back into the suit sleeves and with a shrug of your elbows, hauled it back over your shoulders, then fumbled with the zip.
After a moment of watching you struggle, Mingyu stood, stepped around you, and moved in close.
“Let me.”
Your hands flew into your pockets without a word, but you kept your head turned, watchful for anything moving in the trees. Without issue, Mingyu zipped your suit, running it all the way up to the collar. And stayed there.
“You think I’m full of it?” he breathed.
It was hard to tell in the moonlight, but he really thought your lips looked too stiff. It didn’t stop you from answering.
“No.”
5. Witnessed
You glanced at Mingyu. He was already staring right back. He opened his mouth, but before a sound could escape, the unmistakable crunch of footsteps in snow cut through the air. You both moved at once, but in opposite directions. You, whirling around. Mingyu probably trying to get his guard up.
In the confusion, you elbowed him, he yanked your arm, you stamped on his foot. You felt his weight drag you down as your back hit the snow. Pushing up from the powder, you got halfway up, just enough to see the hulking shape approaching. Behind you, Mingyu’s breathing was loud.
The blood wasn’t flowing right to your hands, but you managed to wrench open one of your thigh pockets, fumbled out the pouch with your knife. You closed your fist around the handle as tight as you could.
The creature emerged from the trees. Its long legs were deliberate, moved with unhurried grace. Above, a massive set of antlers, broad and many-branched, seemed to float for a moment before the head they belonged to appeared beneath them.
“Shit.” You heard Mingyu behind you.
It was enormous. Mingyu shifted closer. You could feel his breath on your ear. Even if he stood to his full height, the elk would still tower over him. You gripped your knife tighter.
Then, the beast noticed you. Its great head swung your way, its path shifted. The air burned in your lungs. The moon backlit the animal. It was impossible to tell if it was real, or if something monstrous had just taken its skin. Out of habit, you tried to reach for your necklace. Instead, your right hand just trembled against the collar of your suit.
The creature halted, facing you.
Was it staring? Was it wondering what you were doing here? What you were? Was it working out the best way to eat you?
You felt pressure against your stomach. Without turning your head, you glanced down. Mingyu had slipped an arm around your waist.
“What the hell are you doing?” Your lips were so numb you didn’t even have to force a whisper.
His reply came from so close it was like he was speaking directly into your skull.
“You’re frozen. Dying of cold now would be plain stupid.”
The elk didn’t move. Behind it, you noticed the door to the radio-telescope was standing wide open. Mingyu hadn’t bothered to close it. You wondered if he could run fast enough to make it to shelter, or if the massive body in front of you would just run him down.
In silence, an owl came to perch on the elk’s antlers. It was facing the dish, but its head performed a full, unsettling half-circle to look right at you.
You breathed in. You breathed out. Mingyu’s breathing was ragged, completely out of time with yours.
The owl finally decided you were uninteresting, looked away, and took flight. The elk seemed to take that as its cue. It walked across the clearing and melted back into the trees.
A long time after it was gone, Mingyu said your name. Turning your head towards him required an effort that felt all wrong.
“Let’s go back in, yeah?”
You nodded, but your legs refused to bend. Wordlessly, Mingyu hauled you up as he stood, his grip firm around your middle. For a second you thought you’d stumble, then you found your feet. The only sound was the scratchy rustle of your suits.
Inside, as Mingyu went looking for your gloves, you wondered if the little robots on Venus also had to hold onto each other when everything got this cold and scary.
Thank you for reading, please let me know if you enjoyed it 🫶💖
