Chapter Text
She has been famous since birth, Sana.
The girl with a destiny on her wrist.
Has always been one of those people took pictures of, even the nurses, for the mark she is born with. So gracefully laced around her right wrist, the buds of a purple freesia that let people know of her destiny. The kind of flower that shows up in online polls of who has the most beautiful soul mark.
But little does the public know what hides on her shoulder. Has been there since around the time she could walk. A truth her parents tells her to hide, for her own safety. What won’t people do if they find out. Flock around her, surely. She’d be a sensation. A wonder even. Or a disgrace. Sana’s parents aren’t sure. Has never heard of a case like this.
But Sana is still so small that she doesn’t know. Lives happily in blissful ignorance of the meaning of the pretty flower buds on her body. Just loves how they look, and loves when strangers compliment her wrist. The only thing ever bothering her is why people don’t love the buds on her shoulder too. Why people never compliment that. But her parents instruct her to keep it hidden, so there isn’t much else to do.
So Sana just loves the white buds enough that they won’t feel less loved than the purple buds.
But it’s long before Sana’s parents have to admit that there probably isn’t a single normal thing about their happy little girl.
It’s a warm day in Sana’s kindergarten and she’s in recess with the other kids. If she wasn’t so busy with her little puppy plush that she had hidden in her backpack, maybe she would’ve heard the buzzing rumors from the other kids, would’ve noticed how they send her looks. But she doesn’t. Just plays with the puppy.
“What’s its name?” a voice asks behind her.
Sana turns. Doesn’t recognize the voice. Doesn’t recognize the face either. But the hand, she definitely recognizes. Because the left hand pointing down at her little puppy is marked with a pink flower bud, lacing around her wrists in a way that’s so familiar. And Sana looks back up at the face. At the chubby cheeks, shy grin and little black pigtails.
Sana tries to talk. But really, it doesn’t go all that well.
The girl sits down. Pokes the plush puppy’s nose and scrunches her own.
“Shushu.” she says.
“What?” Sana croaks.
“It looks like my auntie’s shushu.” the girl says shyly, then repeats the question from before. “What’s its name?”
“Mommy got it for me yesterday. I didn’t give it a name.”
“Shushu.” the girl nods and pats its head.
“Shu...shu.” Sana says, looking curiously at the hand patting the plush’s head. Sana doesn’t know much about flowers honestly. Only knows what her own are because her mommy told her. “Okay. Shushu…”
“Yay!” the girl beams, then looks curiously at Sana. “What’s your name? Mine is Momo.”
“S-sana.” Sana says, stuttering slightly because Momo shuffles closer, and it’s weird. But not bad weird. Just like there’s an extra space in the little bubble Sana’s parents had always made sure she had. A space meant for Momo.
“Momo?” Sana asks, maybe just to taste how the name feels on her own tongue, maybe to get her attention.
“Hm?” Momo looks up from Shushu and grins.
“Your mark...”
“It’s like yours, I know.” Momo nods. “What kind is that?”
“Freesia?” Sana scrunches her nose slightly, because she’s not really sure about the pronunciation. Is suddenly reminded of the one on her shoulders. But she’s not allowed to tell anyone. She knows that. Her mommy told her again and again. Don’t tell anyone. It’s your most precious secret.
Sana knows she’s not supposed to tell.
But it’s Momo and she’s smiling and Sana really… really can’t help herself.
“Do you have more?” Sana whispers.
“More?” Momo frowns.
Sana looks around. Gestures Momo closer.
And only when she’s completely sure that none of the other kids are looking does Sana pull up the sleeve of her pink t-shirt and reveals her shoulder. Just for a few seconds, then flattens the fabric, letting it hide the mark once more.
This time it’s Momo who doesn’t talk. Momo who’s just staring.
“Do you think I’m a freak?” Sana asks quietly. Has heard her mom tell that word to her dad one night when they fought about how to handle her. That they didn’t want people to think she was a freak.
Slowly, Momo shakes her head. “No…”
And then she turns. Takes off the yellow hat and bends her neck, pulling slightly at the back of her shirt to expose the neck.
It’s Sana who touches it, the white buds on Momo’s neck, but immediately retreats her hand at the itching sensation on her wrist. But then Momo’s fingers are around her thumb and holds her there.
“Look.” Momo whispers.
And Sana does. Watches with Momo as the purple and pink buds unfold on their skin to reveal the true beauty of their soul marks. Bloomed at first touch.
They’re inseparable from that second.
So really, what do you do when you come to the school to pick up your kid and she’s holding hands with some girl and announces that she found her soulmate. Five years old. And what do you do when she reveals that she not only broke the promise not to tell anyone about the bouvardia, but that the girl next to her has the exact same flower on the back of her neck?
There’s only one thing to do, honestly.
Accept it.
Go with the flow.
Watch the two girls grow up, hand in hand. Talk to them about friendships and lovers and soulmates as they get older. Adjust along the way. Make mistakes and find new ways.
But you watch them still, Sana’s right hand in Momo’s left. Watch as it evolves from the grasp of chubby little fingers to a tight clasp, to fingers twining on a cold winter night. Listens as Sana tells how her heart is changing. How she felt something when Momo hugged her the other night.
They’re so right for each other. Bicker like they’ve been married ten years at the age of fifteen. Which I mean, they kind of have. But it’s still slightly bizzare to see two girls growing up past their teenage years with equal amounts of stink eyes, quippy remarks, laughter and kisses in the light from the fairy lights around Sana’s princess bed.
It’s not that they’re not happy. They are. Wonderfully happy, with each other. But they’re just not… complete. There’s always something missing. And every time they see the marks in the mirror, the matching white flowers, they’re reminded of what’s missing between them.
But how do you find someone you don’t know where to look for. They could be anywhere. Could be anyone.
It’s Momo’s idea. One night, lying on Sana’s bed, door open and the TV on some drama that neither were watching, Momo with her nose in her phone and Sana going through her closet for clothes to give away to make space for the new styles coming in stores next week.
Momo sighs as she scrolls through instagram, looking at pictures of soul marks once more, hoping to find someone who has more than one. But who would show that off? Momo and Sana don’t even show it off. The word freak still sits between them like a chip that threatens to turn into a crack if they let it. They know what they want, but it doesn’t change the fact that they were both raised to hide it. Even if their parents did it out of a good heart, it still leaves a scar. A thought at the back of their heads that won’t go away.
“I really wish there was a soulmate dating site or something.” Momo mumbles.
“What? Looking for: Soulmate?” Sana snorts from inside the closet.
“Yeah. Like you see all these people posting pictures of their marks, bet they’re all looking for their soulmate.” Momo ponders, going through the tag.
“But the marks aren’t the same, like it’s so rare that they match like ours.” Sana finally turns around to face her girlfriend. It’s still weird going from best friend Momo to girlfriend Momo . Not in their hearts, but when they talk about each other.
“But don’t you think since the bouvardias are the same for us, that whomever they belong to has our marks? You know, the freesia and the iris?” Momo puts down her phone and watches as Sana sits down on the bed. She’s wearing a tank top. Always shows off her shoulder when it’s just the two of them.
“Maybe? I don’t know. But we can’t really… just go around asking people if they’ve seen someone with double soulmark. Officially we don’t even have that.” Sana argues.
“No I know that. But you know how much mark-less people love soulmarks, it’s an industry.”
“Yeah, so?” Sana lies down on the bed. Stares up at the plastic stars on the ceiling.
“Well what if we started posting pictures. Mom and dad have a ton from when we were kids, of us holding hands. And we make an instagram account and use hashtags, they’re so unique people are bound to notice.”
“Get internet famous? Like those long distance couples on youtube?”
“Why not? If we get enough people to see these,” Momo takes Sana’s right hand, twining their fingers so the marks match, “There might be someone who thinks hey, I have those marks and contacts us.”
Sana looks at her, a bit like she’s lost her mind. Then looks at their hands.
“You have to admit, it’s the kind of thing people would love.”
“If I find my soulmark in some shitty heterosexual young adult book down in the corner store’s rose colored section, I’m breaking up with you.” Sana says flatly.
Momo shrugs. “Fine by me, I can live without you.”
Sana sends the older girl one of her best stink eyes and puffs her cheeks until Momo deflates them with a poke to each cheek.
And so they start. It’s Sana who makes the page. Posts most of the pictures. Old pictures of them as kids - no faces - just hands, new pictures from when they go places. Momo’s hand in Sana’s. Pictures of their world. They never say that they’re looking for someone to fill their world. Just hopes that someone will turn up on their own, recognize their marks. And there’s honestly a good chance, because Momo was so right, their account goes viral within months, and people even recognize them on the street from time to time, from their marks, their tangled hands.
Always searching.