Chapter Text
x- and if there is a god, he's the bond that's between us two -x
Throughout the years, Alysa has imagined her soulmate a lot. What she'd look like, act like, the things she'd enjoy. And Isabeau is, well.
Everything she imagined? So different it's actually insane?
Isabeau is a perfect blend of both, is what Alysa settles on.
Isabeau is every bit the perfectionist that Alysa felt tying her hair into a bun every morning when they were younger and three thousand miles apart. The graceful ballerina. The talented junior she's watched become more confident and herself year by year. But she's also the chaotic gremlin who screams her lungs out at a successful bottle flip, tells the worst (read: best) jokes, and dances like a maniac backstage.
Alysa kisses languidly at the younger girl's sternum, thoroughly enjoying her spot cuddling up against her. Isabeau's fingernails lightly scrape against her scalp as she strokes through Alysa's blonde-and-brunette striped hair.
"That's still so trippy," Isabeau breathes out.
"Mmmm."
"Like, I can feel my own nails? Scratching my scalp? Your scalp?"
Alysa chuckles, a low, rumbling vibration against Isabeau’s chest. "Wow. This is such new and shocking information to me."
"Shut up!" Isabeau laughs as she pushes Alysa back, though payback is immediate as the shove makes her own lungs go breathless.
Alysa expects her to shout about how weird it is again, but Isabeau does that thing where her eyes go all gooey and soft when she's looking at her. She's not even sure if Isabeau knows, but she does it a lot. Isabeau's hand goes to her chest, over her heart, and stares.
x--x
It's the first time their eyes locked. Ten and twelve years old.
Isabeau looks at her like she's magic and Alysa believes that she could be if it makes the younger girl keep looking at her like that.
Figure skating is the bond that connects them.
x--x
It's the year after. Eleven and thirteen. Isabeau throws her a plushie that she crocheted herself after Alysa makes history as the youngest US champion. Alysa does not pick it up.
Figure skating is Isabeau's dream and Alysa's curse.
x--x
Right now, they are nineteen and twenty. Isabeau still looks at her like Alysa is her dream come true. Alysa still wonders to herself if she deserves it.
Figure skating is the way they figure this mess of a world out.
"What?" Alysa asks softly, her chin resting right back against Isabeau’s sternum.
She traces a lazy, nonsensical pattern over Isabeau's ribs, feeling the smooth rhythm of her breathing. Every touch has to be gentle, intentional, otherwise Alysa will feel it too. And as cool as the soulbond between them is, often Alysa wants to give Isabeau a feeling that belongs only to her.
"Just thinking," Isabeau murmurs. Her fingers resume the scratching drag across the older girl's scalp. "The first time you got on the ice. I felt it."
Alysa shifts slightly, looking up. "You remember that?" she asks, surprised. Her own childhood is a blur. Her therapist tells her that it's a trauma response, that she's blocked it out to protect herself. "You must've been, what--three? Four?"
"Yeah, I was three." Isabeau shakes her head. "No, not really. But my mom told me about it," she says. "I usually made a fuss every time we had to leave the rink, apparently. She saw me dancing and asked why I was so happy. I said I could still feel the ice. That I was flying."
"You were flying?" Alysa teases, though a genuine warmth spreads through her chest hearing the younger girl's side of the story. Their story, really. "The other kids were clinging to the sides, which looked sooo boring, so yeah. I tried to see how fast I could go." She shrugs, downplaying it even though it's one of the happiest memories of her life. "I'm sure you felt the aftermath of that decision."
"Oh, believe me, I felt the crash too. My mom said she was so confused when I burst into tears."
"Sorry."
"No, you are not."
Alysa grins when Isabeau boops her nose. "No," Alysa agrees, "I am not."
"Good. Because it only lasted for a second." Isabeau pauses, eyes getting all romantic again. "I do actually remember this part. You--you were thrilled. I felt your heart racing."
"I found a way to connect with you," Alysa says. "I already knew about soulmates then, so I knew you skated too. Good thing I love falling though, cause you fell a lot."
"I was literally a toddler!" Isabeau says defensively, even though she knows it's true. Her clumsiness as a kid was part of why her mother signed her up for ballet, for figure skating.
She captures Isabeau's hand, stopping the scalp-scratching so she can press a kiss into the center of Isabeau's palm. The palm that used to give her so much comfort on her darkest days. "Hey, no judgement. You always got up," Alysa whispers against her skin. "Part of why I fell for you. I knew, even all the way across the country, that whoever my person was, she was incredibly stubborn. Just like me."
Fell for. Isabeau stills. They hadn't said that to each other yet, but here Alysa is, saying it as naturally as breathing. Or at least implying it. Ugh.
Beneath Alysa’s cheek, Isabeau's heartbeat skips a sharp, erratic beat. Without a second's delay, she can feel it in her own ribs as well, sudden and sweet.
Alysa blinks, looking up. "What? Did I say something?"
Isabeau opens her mouth to say something witty, but all that comes out is a flustered squeak. "Just... nevermind. Go back to saying nice things about me or something."
Alysa hums in response and it vibrates against Isabeau's palm.
"The first time you did the hand squeezey thing," the older girl starts to say. "It was my first competition, actually. I think I got sixth or seventh. I was scared shitless but you--" Alysa kisses it again, right in the middle. It makes Isabeau's whole hand tingle. "You helped. A lot. All the time. It felt like you were holding my hand, you know? Like you were really there."
"I was. In my own small way."
"Well, it was huge to me. Through all of it, not just the first time. I was alone a lot. I really needed a hand to hold," Alysa whispers. "How'd you think of it?"
Isabeau uses her free hand to tuck a stray strand of blonde-brunette hair behind Alysa's ear. "It was something my mom did on her first date with my dad, actually," she shares. "She squeezed her own hand to see if he felt it. A little soulmate test. I think he dropped his fork. Or knife. The story changes sometimes when she says it."
Hearing it fall so easily from Isabeau's lips makes Alysa think that she could listen to her voice for the rest of her life. And it's funny. It strikes her then, a quiet sort of irony, that she'd spent so long marvelling at how incredible it was to share something as massive as skating with her soulmate, but she'd never considered how different they were too.
Something as simple like Isabeau's parents, how she grew up on romance and real love as a given. A fairytale. But for Alysa, it's a concept she had never known. Her parents were happy once, but she was too young to remember it. But Isabeau talks about love as if it's as natural as breathing. Maybe for the younger girl it is. Alysa finds that it doesn't make her jealous, just warm in the certainty of it.
She traces a slow circle over Isabeau's ribs, marvelling at how it makes her stomach tense, how the muscles there ripple.
"My dad never talks about it but I think he met his soulmate. Before he had to leave China," Alysa says.
It's a thought she's never even shared with her siblings, but it feels easy and right to share it with Isabeau. That feeling is proven right when Isabeau nods, listens, and doesn't press for more. Lets Alysa say whatever she wants to say.
"Sometimes I think about if he'd be happier if he really gave it a shot. Took her to America too, I mean," Alysa ends up continuing. "Cause now, knowing that it's you, I can't imagine leaving you behind and just... living life. Like, feeling your pain still, without any clue how you're doing. I don't know how he does it, how he's not even curious."
"I don't think he's not curious," Isabeau says. She knows all too well how the what ifs can eat at you if you let them linger too long.
Alysa shrugs. "If he is, he's never shown it. He's happy with the five of us. He wouldn't change us for the world, and all that mushy dad crap, you know? But I... I dunno. I wonder if he's never been as happy as I am with you."
Isabeau feels a lump form in her throat. Alysa doesn't know what she does to her when she's honest like that. She doesn't know how awesome she is just by being herself.
"Honestly... when my dad died, I thought it would be easiest if we just never met. It really messed up my mom, and I never wanted to feel like that," Isabeau says.
Alysa's eyebrows stitch together in confusion about how this is related, but the younger girl puts her hand up like wait.
"I thought it'd hurt more if I let myself fall for you only to lose you in the end. Made some awful promise to myself not to look for you," Isabeau admits. "Your dad made a choice too. Except he stuck with his. And yeah, maybe he'll always feel like he's missing something. But he got a daughter like you, who worries about him and fulfills his dreams, and I'm sure he knows he got a pretty sweet deal."
Isabeau’s eyes shimmer with unshed tears, but she forces a cheeky grin to keep the mood from sinking too far into the heavy. She knows how much Alysa values her independence, how much she fought to reclaim her own life from her father's expectations. Holding this much love but exhaustion and frustration for her dad must be heavy.
"And he's lucky," Isabeau finishes, shaking those thoughts away, "because you're the most stubborn, incredible person the world has ever seen."
Alysa lets out a huffing laugh, the kind that’s half tease and half sob, as she reaches up to brush a stray tear from Isabeau’s cheek. "I didn't know that."
She shifts her weight, pulling Isabeau closer until their foreheads rest against each other, closing the small gap between them. The air between them feels charged, thick with everything they've finally started saying out loud.
"That it was because of your parents, I mean. Honestly, back then, I thought it was my fault. I thought I broke the soulbond when you stopped answering."
When Alysa confesses her guilt, Isabeau feels a sharp pang of empathy. A literal tug in her chest that she knows Alysa is feeling too.
"Oh, Aly... no," Isabeau whispers, her voice cracking. She closes her eyes, leaning into the warmth of Alysa’s presence. "You didn't break anything. You couldn't have. It wasn't you, it was just-- I was so lost in the grief. I was scared."
I loved you already, and knew I'd break if I ever lost you like that.
Isabeau didn't say the words out loud, but through the tether, she didn't have to. The sheer, overwhelming weight of that confession poured across the bond, a sudden rush of adoration so intense it made Alysa’s own vision blur. It's what Alysa had spent years wondering if she deserved.
Alysa tilts her head up. She doesn't let the silence linger. She kisses away the tears, one by one, holding Isabeau's face now like she's afraid she'll pull back and leave again. "Hey, hey. You found me. It's alright. It got a happy ending, right?"
Isabeau's eyes flutter closed as she absorbs the sweet sensation of the older girl's lips against her skin. Every kiss feels like a seal on a promise, a way of mending the years they spent navigating the cruel world without the other.
"The happiest," she agrees. "But it's not the end of the story, you know."
x--x
Isabeau and Alysa are nineteen and twenty.
They fall asleep with two Pochacco plushies nestled in between them, one tattered and greying from years on the road, and the other one only starting to fray now.
Alysa's fingers loosely loop around Isabeau's pinky. A promise that neither of them will have to be alone again. Not if they can help it.