bakerstreet | Sweethearts (aka the cutest meme to ever exist)

Sweethearts (aka the cutest meme to ever exist)

THE CHILDHOOD ѕωєєтнєαят MEME

You never forget your first love.

HOW TO
① Comment with your character. You can state preferences and such in your subject.
② You can play this two ways -

a. the characters are young kids/teens and are right in the midst of their first love
OR
b. they're meeting again as ol' jaded adults and realizing the magic's still there! or something like that...

③ Play.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

CONFIRMATION STYLE
how long after that night with her shoulder do you think it would have taken for them to talk about how they're scarmates :|a

i mean it depends on how long it took until she got an Actually Visible injury that they'd have to acknowledge :|a

probably within a few months, i think. things Escalated Quickly with Shea, after all.

...and will we be able to make it fluffy somehow or should i flip a coin for something else

I believe in us but if you have concerns we do not have to do the thing :|a

It was a very silly mistake. Unfortunately, as often happens, it left a very visible mark.

The mission had been such a quick run. He had barely been gone for a day. And still, quite in spite of himself, he had managed to earn himself a black eye.

(It didn't compare to anything his soulmate had been going through lately. It barely made him flinch, after the sort of pain the other half of his soul had been dragging him through the echoes of.)

He's got an ice pack on it when he slinks into the library to look for Rachel, smiling in spite of himself.

Things had only gotten worse after the day her shoulder had been hurt. After it had become obvious to Shea that, whoever her soulmate was, they were obviously too oblivious or simply not present enough to connect her hurts with their echoes. The Spade was still careful, yes-- no need for overly apparently injuries bringing down questions of their origins.

But injuries don't need to show to hurt. Rachel has learned that by blade and bruise.

The newest bruise, at least, doesn't belong to her-- though it does get her worried about what Edgar is doing out there (because it has to be Edgar; every hurt and moment together since that night has only confirmed it.)

She's reading to distract herself from the ache surrounding her eye and from the wound on her arm; immersed in the book well enough not to notice anyone approaching just yet.

Immersed enough that her hair obscures the hurt side of her face from view, thankfully.

He isn't a subtle person. He'll never be as adept at sneaking as either of the girl's are. But Edgar manages to be hushed well enough in the library, and certainly won't hesitate to take advantage of Rachel's distraction to get properly close behind her.

Because of course it's her. He knows every strand of her hair and every inch of the curve of her shoulders, even from a distance. His soulmate, hopefully, will understand--devotion had been impossible to avoid.

"--hey there, stranger." Words are usually best to precede touch in a world where everyone always has a few knives on them. "Miss me?"

Words are a definitely better solution, but she still starts just slightly at the sudden sound of his voice. She narrowly avoids hitting her knee against the table as she twists to look more properly at him, careful to keep her face half-covered.

"Ed! You're home."

"Just now."

Now that she's aware of him, surely he's allowed to shift carefully to pull an arm around her shoulders and press a careful kiss against her temple.

"Missed you."

"Missed you, too."

There's still the faintest of winces for the touch to her shoulder, even if the injury is more or less healed by now. She still manages a smile and a light kiss to his cheek.

"How'd things go? --You're hurt."

"Not badly."

It's easy enough to flop into a seat beside her. It's even comfortable enough to properly pull the ice from his eye and reveal the bruising.

It's also easier to let his eyes come into focus when they're both uncovered, stopping his next thought on his lips.

Likely what keeps him from speaking is the fact that once he's seated-- despite her best efforts-- it's still going to be easy enough to see the hint of a bruise around her own eye within her hair. Maybe avoiding eye contact after studying his own injury will keep him distracted.

"--Still. Black eyes aren't-- any fun."

"...no. They're-- not."

Reaching out is very careful. It feels important to touch her cheek, just carefully, to try and keep her from further shying away.

"--who did that, Rach?"

She doesn't flinch away, at least. Her breath trembles just slightly, but she stays still as she can.

"I-- don't know," she says, and at least it's honest.

It's the next sentence that gets her hesitating-- because how else to explain this and keep his worry as low as possible? Maybe he won't note the fact that their bruised eyes look entirely identical, if her hair stays in the way.

"It's not-- mine."

He can't say for sure, of course. He hasn't seen his own eye since it really started blooming into a pattern of darkened skin. But he can't help guessing.

He can't help remembering how the wound on her leg had looked so familiar and how long his own shoulder had ached.

"... 's it-- mine?"

She's always been quicker. If either of them knew first, it would be her.

He tries not to think about what it must mean that she didn't tell him.

"I don't know," she says again, intending entirely to plead ignorance or lie.

It's just that she can't entirely, when he's looking at her with such concern and her heart is fluttering just for being with him. He's always made her feel safe, even now when nothing else done.

"...Maybe."

Most likely.

There's an unhappy sort of dull throb in the bruising around his eye, but he drops the ice pack all the same. One hand has to stay carefully on her cheek; the other, damp from the pack, moves to touch his own shoulder.

"...this yours, Rach?"

He's been protective of the new scar on his shoulder (it isn't his to not care if people see, after all), but he's got the inkling she doesn't need to have seen it to know.

She doesn't need to see it. There's a tension in her own shoulders as his hand shifts, eyes dropping away from his once she notes where his other hand is resting.

There's a few moments where she weighs her options; finally settles for something akin to the truth, "...Probably."

It's too much to process at once. Even taking a slow, careful breath, he can't begin to understand everything rushing through his heart--the surge of joy that the other piece of him is the young woman he's been falling in love with; the rush of anger against the unknown at the marks of cruelty he carries with her; the sinking sensation at the realization that she seems to have known and not wanted it to be true.

His fingers tremble as they drop from her cheek, but are steady when they lift the ice pack again. This time, it's offered in her direction. "...this'll... help, a little."

The shake of her head is cautious; delicate with the nerves of knowing he's figured it out.

"'s-- your injury," she manages to get out, "Y'need it more than-- I do."

"I'm okay."

More than anything, he's starting to feel numb all over. This should be wonderful, finding out it's her. The nerves radiating off her can't help dampen it painfully.

"It'll take the edge off."

"I'll feel-- better if you do, though," comes the quiet reply.

That's how all of this works, after all.

Rachel Caustello | HoC/OC

ooc;

ooc;

ooc;

Re: ooc;

we try this way :|a

i like dis :|a

eyes on the fluff prize B|

we shall try ;w;

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