Chapter Text
He’d noticed over the past few months that Link had developed a tendency to stroke his own palm with the thumb of his opposite hand. The action had slowly crept into the man’s repertoire of fidgets, adding to the way he shifted in his seat and twisted his wedding band around his finger. At first Rhett took no note of it; he didn’t want to make the man self-conscious. But eventually it became a constant in their videos and the fans started commenting and Rhett became concerned.
They were sitting in the office after the latest taping and Rhett looked over to see Link twisting his hands around in his lap. He decided he couldn’t wait any longer. “Something wrong with your hand?” he asked.
Link jumped slightly and looked over at him, then down. “No, it’s…”
“If you’ve got some pain you should get it checked out right away, you know. The way you type it could easily be carpal tunnel.”
“It doesn’t hurt,” the other man mumbled. “It’s just… I noticed a few month ago that I think it’s fading away.”
“What is?”
Link chewed his bottom lip. “The scar.”
Ah. Rhett glanced down to his own palm, where a faint white line still followed what he’d learned palm readers called his life line. Memories crowded his mind of the cow pasture, the jagged piece of glass, the promise they made to each other.
He reached over and took Link’s hand, pulling it gently toward himself as the other man yielded. He held it up to the amber afternoon sunlight and leaned forward to examine it closely. Back in that cow pasture, Link had cut his hand more vertically, along the curve which Rhett later learned was his fate line. For a moment Rhett’s stomach sank as he surveyed the smooth skin, but then he turned Link’s hand sightly and the faint ridge of flesh caught the light.
“I found it,” he said, and traced it slowly with his finger.
“It’s here,” he whispered, and brought Link’s palm to his lips.
“Don’t worry, brother,” he murmured as he kissed the warm skin. “It’s never going to fade completely.”