static_abyss (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
static_abyss) wrote2022-06-14 08:48 pm
static_abyss) wrote2022-06-14 08:48 pm
Lj Idol 2022: Week 10
Benecio's soul mark said, "duck, you absolute asshole," until Tory shot him straight through the shoulder and it scarred over.
In Tory's defense, they'd been barely eighteen, hanging by the docks after school because Benecio's sister, Belinda, heard there was a speed dating bar opening by the pier. The concept was simple, a fee at the door to enter, and full access to every other young, naive, piece of shit teenager who was looking for their soulmate.
Speed dating bars were popular back then, before the Soul Mark Regulations, and everyone who was old enough to drive would pop over at least once in their life. The bars usually took anyone from sixteen to twenty-five. They'd set everyone up with a table and number and let them go from partner to partner, everyone saying the other person's words, waiting for the change that would mean someone had found their soulmate.
The day he got shot, Benecio had snagged a blunt from Miguel and twenty dollars from Belinda. He was young, high, and bored as all hell. When Tory suggested looking for something to do, he mentioned the bar, and they ended up waiting in line at ten in the evening. They'd both smelled like weed and cheap cologne they'd picked up from the deli at the corner of Benecio's block. Tory's wavy black hair was sticking up on one side but the purple light from the bar's sign lit up his brown skin in a way that made him glow.
Tory was the kind of guy who kept to himself, quiet, reserved in that way that meant he had at least three younger siblings back at home. He was a good looking kid, with high cheekbones and upturned eyes. He knew how to ride a motorcycle and how to change a flat tire, how to jiggle the handle of the high school doors to get them to open. He knew shit a kid his age didn't need to know, and he'd make that clear whenever Benecio asked too many personal questions.
Benecio didn't push usually. He and Tory got along because they knew where to draw the line, and because where Tory was quiet, Benecio was loud enough to draw all the attention towards himself. He started conversations with other people and kept them going, drawing Tory in every once in a while so that no one forgot him. When they went to parties, it was always because someone invited Benecio and Benecio dragged Tory along. They were inseparable back then, both of them glued at the hip, both of them beautiful in a way that made them almost untouchable.
"You don't have to stay," Tory said that night, as they waited in line.
La Orquídea was a raging creature by that point, the bar's front doors thrown wide open so that everyone could hear the madness within. They had the oldies playing, the slow cumbias that nevertheless made Benecio want to dance. Belinda loved that kind of stuff, the romance of it all. She was like Tory in that respect.
"You really don't have to stay," Tory said again.
He was looking down at his dirty Converse sneakers and the rips on his jeans. Benecio eyed him up and down as the line inched closer to the door. They were wearing the same brand of jeans and well-worn t-shirts. Nothing too out of the ordinary for a speed dating bar. Nothing too fancy for their side of town.
"We're almost there," Benecio said. "If you're going to chicken out, do it now."
Tory flipped him the finger but didn't say anything. Neither of them had ever been inside a speed dating bar before. Neither of them had even heard of La Orquídea, and Benecio made it a point to know all the good spots around their neighborhood. But Belinda said it was fine, and if there was one thing Benecio was sure of, it was that Belinda was never wrong.
-
Tory didn't like to think himself an unreasonable guy. He never lied to girls about how tall he was and he never lied to the guys about the things he liked. He always told Benecio when he was being a dick but never let him apologize for being himself. Tory was who he was and Benecio was who he was, and neither of them could honestly expect the other to change. They were friends because they respected that truth about themselves, knew where their edges might not meet up, and did their best to make sure it didn't cause too much friction.
Tory wasn't mad that Benecio had walked right into La Orquídea and immediately ditched him to go flirt with the girl at the nearest table. Tory wasn't even annoyed that he had to listen to shitty music the entire night when it wasn't even his idea to go to the bar in the first place.
He didn't want to get a pretty little card and spend the rest of his night chatting up people he knew weren't his soulmate. The whole premise of speed dating bars was flawed anyway. Everyone was born with a soul mark somewhere on their body. Usually, they were the first words someone's soulmate would say to them. Sometimes, the marks were the time and date when someone would meet their soulmate.
Benecio had words and Tory had a date and a time.
Which meant that Tory knew exactly when and what time he would meet his soulmate. Which meant that he knew it wasn't tonight.
But Benecio was having fun writing down his words on the little pink cardstock by the bar. Tory watched him walk around the place, handing out his card, receiving one in return. Benecio would smile, look down at the card in his hand and say the words written on it. Tory held his breath with him during every exchange, waiting as his heart thumped loudly in his chest. He'd exhale once, long and slow whenever Benecio gave his partner a sad smile, took back his card, and went on his way.
It went that way for a few hours, Tory leaning against the wall by the bar, watching Benecio make his rounds. Until the bartender made his way towards Tory's side of the bar and slipped him a shot.
"On the house," he said, glancing meaningfully in Benecio's direction.
It was late, the music was shit, and the purple lights were starting to give Tory a headache.
Tory took the shot, downed it in one go, and said, "You not into this kind of stuff?"
The bartender smiled, his brown eyes bright and knowing. "Not really," he said, turning his wrist up.
There was a date and a time stamped across the man's wrist, about a year from then, quarter to midnight.
"Ah," Tory said.
And then, because fair was fair, he rolled up the sleeve of his t-shirt over his left shoulder just enough that he could show off the numbers over where his arm met his shoulder. Tory's numbers were black, the color of a turned mark, a loud declaration that Tory had already met his soulmate. The date was from two years ago, right on his sixteenth birthday, on the day Benecio climbed the fence between their two buildings and knocked Tory's cake out of his hands.
In Tory's defense, they'd been barely eighteen, hanging by the docks after school because Benecio's sister, Belinda, heard there was a speed dating bar opening by the pier. The concept was simple, a fee at the door to enter, and full access to every other young, naive, piece of shit teenager who was looking for their soulmate.
Speed dating bars were popular back then, before the Soul Mark Regulations, and everyone who was old enough to drive would pop over at least once in their life. The bars usually took anyone from sixteen to twenty-five. They'd set everyone up with a table and number and let them go from partner to partner, everyone saying the other person's words, waiting for the change that would mean someone had found their soulmate.
The day he got shot, Benecio had snagged a blunt from Miguel and twenty dollars from Belinda. He was young, high, and bored as all hell. When Tory suggested looking for something to do, he mentioned the bar, and they ended up waiting in line at ten in the evening. They'd both smelled like weed and cheap cologne they'd picked up from the deli at the corner of Benecio's block. Tory's wavy black hair was sticking up on one side but the purple light from the bar's sign lit up his brown skin in a way that made him glow.
Tory was the kind of guy who kept to himself, quiet, reserved in that way that meant he had at least three younger siblings back at home. He was a good looking kid, with high cheekbones and upturned eyes. He knew how to ride a motorcycle and how to change a flat tire, how to jiggle the handle of the high school doors to get them to open. He knew shit a kid his age didn't need to know, and he'd make that clear whenever Benecio asked too many personal questions.
Benecio didn't push usually. He and Tory got along because they knew where to draw the line, and because where Tory was quiet, Benecio was loud enough to draw all the attention towards himself. He started conversations with other people and kept them going, drawing Tory in every once in a while so that no one forgot him. When they went to parties, it was always because someone invited Benecio and Benecio dragged Tory along. They were inseparable back then, both of them glued at the hip, both of them beautiful in a way that made them almost untouchable.
"You don't have to stay," Tory said that night, as they waited in line.
La Orquídea was a raging creature by that point, the bar's front doors thrown wide open so that everyone could hear the madness within. They had the oldies playing, the slow cumbias that nevertheless made Benecio want to dance. Belinda loved that kind of stuff, the romance of it all. She was like Tory in that respect.
"You really don't have to stay," Tory said again.
He was looking down at his dirty Converse sneakers and the rips on his jeans. Benecio eyed him up and down as the line inched closer to the door. They were wearing the same brand of jeans and well-worn t-shirts. Nothing too out of the ordinary for a speed dating bar. Nothing too fancy for their side of town.
"We're almost there," Benecio said. "If you're going to chicken out, do it now."
Tory flipped him the finger but didn't say anything. Neither of them had ever been inside a speed dating bar before. Neither of them had even heard of La Orquídea, and Benecio made it a point to know all the good spots around their neighborhood. But Belinda said it was fine, and if there was one thing Benecio was sure of, it was that Belinda was never wrong.
-
Tory didn't like to think himself an unreasonable guy. He never lied to girls about how tall he was and he never lied to the guys about the things he liked. He always told Benecio when he was being a dick but never let him apologize for being himself. Tory was who he was and Benecio was who he was, and neither of them could honestly expect the other to change. They were friends because they respected that truth about themselves, knew where their edges might not meet up, and did their best to make sure it didn't cause too much friction.
Tory wasn't mad that Benecio had walked right into La Orquídea and immediately ditched him to go flirt with the girl at the nearest table. Tory wasn't even annoyed that he had to listen to shitty music the entire night when it wasn't even his idea to go to the bar in the first place.
He didn't want to get a pretty little card and spend the rest of his night chatting up people he knew weren't his soulmate. The whole premise of speed dating bars was flawed anyway. Everyone was born with a soul mark somewhere on their body. Usually, they were the first words someone's soulmate would say to them. Sometimes, the marks were the time and date when someone would meet their soulmate.
Benecio had words and Tory had a date and a time.
Which meant that Tory knew exactly when and what time he would meet his soulmate. Which meant that he knew it wasn't tonight.
But Benecio was having fun writing down his words on the little pink cardstock by the bar. Tory watched him walk around the place, handing out his card, receiving one in return. Benecio would smile, look down at the card in his hand and say the words written on it. Tory held his breath with him during every exchange, waiting as his heart thumped loudly in his chest. He'd exhale once, long and slow whenever Benecio gave his partner a sad smile, took back his card, and went on his way.
It went that way for a few hours, Tory leaning against the wall by the bar, watching Benecio make his rounds. Until the bartender made his way towards Tory's side of the bar and slipped him a shot.
"On the house," he said, glancing meaningfully in Benecio's direction.
It was late, the music was shit, and the purple lights were starting to give Tory a headache.
Tory took the shot, downed it in one go, and said, "You not into this kind of stuff?"
The bartender smiled, his brown eyes bright and knowing. "Not really," he said, turning his wrist up.
There was a date and a time stamped across the man's wrist, about a year from then, quarter to midnight.
"Ah," Tory said.
And then, because fair was fair, he rolled up the sleeve of his t-shirt over his left shoulder just enough that he could show off the numbers over where his arm met his shoulder. Tory's numbers were black, the color of a turned mark, a loud declaration that Tory had already met his soulmate. The date was from two years ago, right on his sixteenth birthday, on the day Benecio climbed the fence between their two buildings and knocked Tory's cake out of his hands.