Chapter Text
Jesse’s initials didn’t appear until he was 18.
They began as a few faint blue strands, hard to decipher until they became thicker, connecting into a sketchy “H” and “S” on his right wrist.
He didn’t draw attention to them, his glove covering the spot when he was around the other Deadlock members. None of the gang spoke of their marks, viewing them more as distractions than anything else. Yet Jesse had seen some of them, during more solitary moments, gaze thoughtfully at their letters when they thought no one was looking.
He said nothing, obviously. Just filed the information away to console himself when he was feeling particularly lonely. At least he wasn’t the only one who wondered.
Over the course of the next few months, his initials emerged further, spreading out until the ends wrapped around his wrist. He traded his smaller glove for a larger one, coming up higher on his arm to cover the growing design.
He spent too much time tracing their pattern as they became more elaborate, the ends of each letter entwining together to become two twin blue snakes. The snakes eventually evolved into long, coiling dragons, striking in their ferocity.
Yet there was something about them that brought Jesse a sense of comfort. Just knowing a piece of the puzzle that was his soulmate gave him hope.
He liked to imagine what the dragons meant, silly smile on his face as he sat by the campfire at night or absentmindedly cleaned his gun on a lazy afternoon. What they could possibly mean for his mate. He wondered what his initials looked like; what symbol fate had decided described him best. Each mark was so distinct, so unique to the owner, that he couldn’t even hazard a guess.
And although he felt he couldn’t speak of his mark to the others, he still picked up snippets of conversation. The few Deadlock members that had managed to find their mates spoke of an immediate, unspoken bond. A connection so subtle that they couldn’t put their finger on what was different, just that something was. Some spoke of asking their potential mates almost immediately about their initials, while many others pined alone, not able to work up the nerve.
Jesse ate up whatever bits of information he could, desperate for any idea how he would know when he was close to finding the most important person in his life.
He knew one thing was for certain – when it came time, he wouldn’t hesitate.
When Genji turned 15 and the first signs of his mark appeared, the house was in an uproar. The younger Shimada made it a point to show off his initials every chance he got, going so far as to walk around with his right sleeve pulled up constantly so no one would mistake the fact that he was spoken for. It was rare for someone younger than 16 to start showing, but Genji was nothing if not a trendsetter.
Hanzo, rightfully, was not pleased. At 18, the heir to the Shimada Clan still did not bear any mark. His parents said he was blessed, free from the stress and uncertainty of finding his intended and able to marry anyone he desired. Hanzo would nod, quietly agree with their assessment and change the subject.
But at night, with Genji bouncing around his room doing nothing but gushing about his future mate, Hanzo’s jealousy grew.
“What do you think it means, anija?” Genji sighed, flopping onto his back on Hanzo’s bed. He lifted his arm so the moonlight illuminated the “T. Z.” in flowing script along his wrist. While the letters were the only feature so far, Genji swore he could see a faint circle forming to one side.
“It means your soulmate’s name begins with a T and a Z,” Hanzo replied dryly.
“You’re no fun,” Genji scoffed, tossing a pillow in his direction. Hanzo merely gave him a sidelong glance before returning to his book.
Hanzo blocked him out, focusing on his studies as his brother twisted and turned his arm, hoping it might provide some new angle to his mark. It was a common occurrence, and Hanzo could ignore it easily enough by now.
“You shouldn’t lose faith, brother,” Genji said, after a few minutes of silence. Hanzo looked up abruptly, brow furrowed.
Genji smiled as he rolled onto his stomach to face him, nodding at his brother’s arm.
“I know your time will come.”
The faint beginnings of Hanzo’s mark formed nearly a year later.
It started slowly, a small “J” the only sign. The first time Hanzo sees it he falls into a panic, sure Genji must have snuck into his room during the night and drawn it on. The frantic scrubbing only succeeds in making his wrist red and raw, yet the letter remains.
Hanzo succeeds in hiding it for about a week until a sparring match leaves his arm pinned and uncovered by an over-observant Genji. His younger brother’s eyes widen, flicking between Hanzo’s red face and his wrist.
“Is that…?” Genji whispered, almost reverently.
“It is nothing,” Hanzo growled, yanking his arm away. He picked himself up, brushing off the dust before turning heel and making his way back inside.
“It is!” Genji gasped, scrambling after him. “Hanzo, let me see!”
Hanzo marched to his room, ignoring Genji’s attempts to grab his arm. It’s not until they’re alone that he wheeled on his brother, fixing him with a withering glare.
“Do not speak of this,” he hissed.
“I won’t, I promise!” Genji impatiently replied, fidgeting in front of him.
Hanzo begrudgingly held out his wrist, wincing as Genji twisted it to get a better look.
“Why just one initial?”
“Maybe my mate only has one name,” Hanzo snapped, snatching his arm back. “It only just appeared. Perhaps it’s not finished yet.”
“Could be,” Genji frowned. “Mine came at the same time, though.”
“And a year early,” Hanzo sighed. “I don’t know, Genji. Only time will tell.”
The “M” appeared not much later, both strong letters standing out starkly on Hanzo’s wrist. It would be unavoidable now that someone other than Genji – who, true to his word, has said nothing – would notice it.
He stops bothering to try to hide it, quietly enduring his parents’ disappointed lecture. As if he had any control over this.
As the weeks go on, the design begins to form and spread. Hanzo casually asks Genji to see his own, his younger brother proudly showing off the ring of orbs that encircle his mate’s initials.
Hanzo’s took quite a different shape, however, and the outline of a revolver became apparent after not too long. Why his soulmate was associated with a gun – an outdated gun, at that – was a mystery to both brothers. They spent countless hours in Hanzo’s room trying to decipher it, the attention finally gone from Genji’s mark and turned to more important matters.
“Maybe he just likes guns,” Genji theorized.
“Or uses them,” Hanzo countered grimly. He wasn’t fond of that idea, but it seemed a likely possibility. He reached for the concealing band on the table next to him.
“Hanzo,” Genji whined. “You don’t need to cover it. Mother and Father know, and no one would dare insult you over it, you know that.”
“It is not for them,” Hanzo murmured, adjusting the band over his wrist. “I do not want to look at it. I do not want to be associated with this.” His lip curled in disgust.
“You are so ridiculous,” Genji groaned, rolling his eyes. “You don’t even know what it means.”
“Nor do I want to.”