Chapter Text
Hunter awakens on the morning of his twenty-first birthday to the patter of raindrops against the window and a name inked onto the inside of his wrist.
His eyes flutter open slowly, the familiar walls of his bedroom eventually coming into focus as he rolls onto his back and gazes up at the ceiling. The shower outside continues unabashedly, each splash of water a pinprick of noise on the glass, and Hunter loses himself in the sound of it for a long moment.
But he can only put it off for so long.
There is a stirring in his gut, something anxious yet hopeful at the same time. He can't seem to decide what to feel. There is a part of him that aches to look, that awaits the surge of relief that will wash over him once he finally knows, but the other part of him is terrified, because he's seen the other side of things. He doesn't want that to be him. It can't be.
He is twenty-one today, and it should feel liberating. He should already be planning out his map of attack on all of the local bars, but instead, he is lying in bed, waiting to find out the name of the person he is now tethered to for the rest of his life.
The skin of his wrist tingles just then, as if reminding him of what now resides there. It's almost a mockery of the after-sensations of an actual tattoo- or, at least, that's what Hunter has heard it's supposed to be. If only it really were a tattoo. Something "permanent," but not so, because the only thing a tattoo attaches itself to is skin, not heart and mind and soul and body.
Hunter's stomach lurches, and he finally sits up in bed, his arms still hanging limp at his sides.
Look, his brain commands.
There is a second before Hunter lifts his hand and turns his arm over, in which he thinks that maybe this is all just a fluke. Maybe he'll be some absurd exception, and that there won't be a name on his wrist, that the ache traveling up his limbs is only a phantom pain that doesn't really mean anything.
He cradles his wrist in his opposite palm and glances down.
His world stops.
"No," he chokes out.
It has to be a mistake; he knows that this has happened before, to a few people, but it isn't supposed to happen to him. What has he done to deserve this? The letters pressed into his skin seem to taunt him, the characters swirling and blending together as Hunter's vision grows fuzzy, and he just wants to die. His throat constricts, and his chest feels like it's collapsing in on itself, and everything is so, so wrong.
Hunter is a good guy. He's smart, compassionate- he's done well with the cards he's been dealt, has played them in all the right ways.
But now he's been dealt a joker, and his entire strategy has been torn to shreds in a matter of seconds.
Jesse St. James' name loops its way across the inside of Hunter's wrist, contrasting starkly against the pale white of Hunter's skin, and Hunter already knows for a fact that it isn't his name that's carved into Jesse's.
It's Rachel Berry's.
*
When Hunter Clarington was six years old, his parents told him that he would one day find his soulmate.
It sounded like something out of one of his storybooks. Hunter was eager with his questions, had asked them things like, will she be pretty? and, she's gonna like baseball, right? His parents had laughed fondly before explaining to him that they didn't know who his soulmate would be, only that he'd eventually have one, and that they would "love each other forever."
Hunter's parents, in fact, were one of many products of this very tale. On their highly anticipated twenty-first birthdays, Jack Clarington and Annabelle Pierce had woken up on opposite sides of the country with each others' names scrawled onto their wrists. Jack had quickly done his research, and traveled to Baltimore that night, where he saw Annabelle for the very first time, and all of the pieces slotted into place.
Of course, not everyone is so lucky.
For a very select few- so select that they are but a mere blip on the scale of the world's population- the name that greets them has already greeted someone else. No one is sure why this minority is faced with such devastatingly bad luck, but it occurs nevertheless, and these people are cursed with a lifetime of longing after a person who has bonded fully and completely with someone else.
And now, Hunter is one of them.
*
Acutely, he realizes that his body is trembling, and he forces himself to climb out of bed on shaky legs. The world around him is hazy, as if he can't quite focus on anything, and he stumbles to his closet rather ungracefully, pulling out the longest sleeved shirt that he owns and tugging it on. The fabric slips down past his wrists, and he curls his fingers around the edges of the sleeves to hold them in place before shuffling out of his bedroom and into the main area of the apartment.
Perhaps if he just doesn't look at it, the words will disappear. He will wake up tomorrow, and someone else's name will be inked into his skin, someone equally perfect for him. Someone who is actually available.
The image of Jesse's calm, teasing smirk surfaces in Hunter's mind, and it isn't seconds before he is hunched over the toilet in the bathroom and hacking up his dinner from the night previous.
*
Hunter met Jesse his senior year of high school.
He transferred from a military school out in Colorado to Dalton Academy, an all-boys private school in Westerville, Ohio just before the school year began. Dalton had recruited him as a captain for their nationally-renowned show choir, the Warblers, and Hunter had gratefully accepted, excited at the prospect of leading a group of boys in an area that he was so passionate about.
Singing had been a hobby of his since elementary school, when he ended up in a small recreational choir at the church his parents attended. He continued with the choir all the way through eighth grade, until his father sent him off to military school in hopes that the mixture of education and discipline would serve Hunter well for the future. And serve him well, it had; not only were the academics rigorous, but Hunter found himself a member of their top-of-the-league baseball team, while juggling the other standard physical activity sessions on the side. He lost touch with his performing side for awhile, too busy trying to stay afloat at a school full of other high-achieving, determined students, and it wasn't until his father agreed to allow him to transfer to Dalton that he realized just how much he had missed singing.
The Warblers welcomed him into the fold without complaint. Within the first few weeks at Dalton, Hunter had grown close with most of the boys in the group, amongst whom were Nicholas Duval and Jeff Sterling, Warblers since freshmen year and all-around good guys. Hunter considered them to be the two he knew best out of the team, and he often found himself getting roped into their dumb pranks, adding Nair to Thad Harwood's shampoo or hanging a bucket of red-dyed water over the chemistry professor's door. Eventually, Hunter had grown so comfortable at Dalton that military school was nothing but a distant memory. He also had the Warblers exhibiting such talent that they were on their way to Nationals in New York City, and everything seemed to be working in his favor.
That's when he met Jesse.
He'd heard rumors about Vocal Adrenaline through the show choir gossip circuit, and Nick and Jeff had repeatedly dropped Jesse's name in passing when discussing their competition. However, he still found himself somewhat awestruck as he watched the team's performance at Nationals- they were positively flawless, and Jesse's voice was something not even able to be described by words. Hunter had stared, rapt, and he would have been nervous to go up against such stiff competition if he hadn't been so captivated.
Of course, the Warblers came out respectably with their fourth-place finish, considering the circumstances. But it was afterwards, as the members of Vocal Adrenaline were crowded around their first-place trophy and celebrating amongst themselves, that Hunter truly remembers. He had walked over to the group, spotting Jesse within the chaos, and made his way towards the boy, his hand already outstretched.
"Congratulations," he called out, and Jesse had turned in his direction, acknowledging him with a warm smile and the slip of his hand into Hunter's own. Something had slithered its way up Hunter's arm, a tingling sensation that left him slightly breathless, and looking back, maybe this should have been a sign of how in a matter of years, this meeting would prove to be an absolute curse.
But Hunter had merely returned Jesse's smile, the genuine thanks, you guys were amazing too that had left the boy's mouth causing something warm to curl in his gut, and said, "I'm Hunter Clarington."
"Jesse St. James," came the reply, and Hunter had laughed.
"I know," he stated.
*
He and Jesse kept in contact for the rest of the year. They exchanged a few words over facebook at first, simple pleasantries and boring getting-to-know-you messages, until Jesse had suggested Hunter come out for Jesse's eighteenth birthday about a month after Nationals. They spent the evening cracking jokes and rambling on about anything that came to mind, and after that, hardly a day passed that they didn't speak. When Hunter's college acceptance letters came, the Columbia logo standing out proudly at the top of the stack, Jesse was the first person he called after Nick and Jeff, and the boy's reaction didn't disappoint.
"I knew you'd get in," Jesse responded simply, and Hunter had rolled his eyes.
"No, you didn't," he muttered while shaking his head. "But thanks. Now quit holding out on me and tell me if your NYADA letter came already."
The line had been silent for a long moment, and Hunter could just /tell/ that Jesse was stringing him along on purpose.
Finally, his friend spoke. "Of course I got in. What did you expect?"
Cocky asshole, Hunter had chuckled into the receiver, and Jesse had merely snorted in reply and mumbled, you like it.
Come the fall, Hunter was attending school in New York with one of his best friends, and he'd never been happier.
*
He dry heaves into the toilet for a good twenty minutes.
Nothing but acid has been coming up for awhile, now, but Hunter stays where he is, forehead pressed to the cool porcelain. The apartment is quiet around him, not even the sound of the rain audible from where he sits, and he hates it. He hates the silence, and the churning in his gut, and the fact that his mind keeps chanting Jesse's name as if it's stuck on a loop, something unrelenting and never ending.
If this is what the rest of his life is going to be like, Hunter would rather just end it now.
He inhales a shuddering breath and manages to drag himself up to his feet, flushing the toilet a handful of times and then brushing his teeth twice to get the repugnant taste out of his mouth. Meanwhile, he can hear his phone begin to vibrate from across the hall in his bedroom, and he steadfastly ignores it, sure that it's either Jesse, Nick, or Jeff calling to wish him a happy birthday and force the "good" news out of him.
Hunter desperately wishes that he had something "good" to tell them.
The buzzing noise stops after a minute, but then starts up again seconds later, and Hunter groans, shutting off the light in the bathroom and heading out towards the kitchen instead. He needs coffee, and then he needs to fabricate a lie to tell his friends about the whole situation. Or a pill that will miraculously undo the past two hours, he isn't picky.
His sleeve slips up an inch as he reaches for a mug, and Hunter furiously tugs it back down as the black ink peeks out from beneath the fabric.
The denial is still heavy in his stomach.
Maybe you misread it, his mind suggests, but he only entertains the idea for a millisecond. There's no way he could have imagined it. It is Jesse's name on his wrist, and every fiber of his being screams with the reality of it.
The coffee machine beeps to signal that it is finished brewing, and Hunter slumps forward against the counter to bury his head in his hands.
*
Jesse met Rachel in the middle of their freshman year at NYADA.
Hunter only really saw him on weekends, since they were at different schools and were both forced to live on-campus for the first year of attendance. Therefore, he wasn't introduced to Rachel himself until a few weeks later, when he and Jesse were out at some piano bar named Callbacks. It was apparently a hotspot for NYADA students, even the underaged ones, as it didn't card anyone with a student ID, and Jesse had dragged him out to it on the grounds that Columbia students studied too much. Hunter had shoved his friend none too gently on the shoulder, declaring that it wasn't his fault he didn't attend ballet classes for a grade, but went with him nonetheless.
They had just wormed their way through the crowd to an empty table when a rather enthusiastic and feminine voice had called out Jesse's name, and Hunter turned around to witness a short brunette throwing her arms around his friend's neck, Jesse's unmistakable laugh of delight coming from over the girl's shoulder.
"Rachel!" Jesse greeted as they separated, and his grin was so wide that Hunter had been worried it might split open his friend's face. Before he knew what was happening, his friend was pulling him over to his side and introducing him to this Rachel, whose hand was already outstretched politely.
"It's nice to meet you!" she squeaked, as Hunter slipped his hand into her own.
"Likewise," Hunter called over the music, mustering up his warmest smile. "This idiot's spoken pretty highly of you."
At that, Rachel had blushed, and Jesse nudged him pointedly in the back before taking over the conservation once more. "Care to sit with us, Rach?"
Rachel had mumbled an affirmative, and the three of them had taken a seat at a table off to the side of the room, where Hunter quickly realized just how much the girl liked to talk. And talk.
Thankfully, it hadn't been too terribly awkward, Rachel's kindness and Jesse's constant jokes enough to keep Hunter from feeling like a third wheel. As it turned out, Rachel was quite something, with her surprising snark and mind blowing talent to boot. Hunter had watched in amusement as she dragged Jesse up onstage to sing a duet with her, their voices blending perfectly in a rendition of Hello by Lionel Richie, and it wasn't long after that night that Rachel became a permanent fixture in their lives.
It was no surprise at all, really, when on their twenty-first birthdays, Jesse and Rachel found each other's names on their wrists.
*
Hi, you've reached Hunter. Leave a message after the beep.
"Jesus, Hunt, what'd you do? Go out and get drunk last night instead? Your birthday's today, dumbass. Call me back. Rachel wants to know if we're doing all dive bars, or if she actually has to bring her ID."
Click.
*
Hunter never saw much point in dating. With the inevitability of turning twenty-one and finding someone else's name on his skin, he figured he would spare himself the difficulty and the heartbreak of managing to meet someone he might actually like, and then having to dump them when the time came. He'd seen it work out before, of course- with Jesse and Rachel being the obvious example- but he'd also seen it go horribly wrong, such as when his cousin had to go through the shocking ordeal of calling off an engagement with his girlfriend of two years.
The entire family had been thrown when Anthony found the name of a girl in his Psych 101 class on his wrist, and Hunter had watched as his cousin suffered through a long six months of losing himself to the remorse. His supposed soulmate, Christina, had remained loyally by his side the entire time, but it had been obvious that things were taking a toll on her as well. The few times Hunter had spoken with her, she'd been exhausted, yet surprisingly vigilant in her hopes that things would work out. And eventually, they did; Anthony's ex-fiancée found her soulmate in a man named Josh, and soon, Anthony and Christina were through the trouble of the months that had passed and were on their way to being a happily bonded couple.
Hunter still remembers what it had been like, though. He remembers how often his aunt- Anthony's mother- would call up his own, sobbing down the line and choking out curses towards whoever had done this to her boy. And of course, Hunter remembers Anthony, the guilt that his cousin had lived with for so long- and probably still does.
It was the fear of something like this happening that kept Hunter from putting himself out there. This, unfortunately, had also meant that he'd never really explored his sexuality, what he found himself attracted to or what he wanted in a partner. It didn't seem to matter much, at the time, since he wouldn't have a choice when the time came, anyway, but he'd for some reason always been under the impression that his soulmate would be female. Most couples were heterosexual, though there was also a decent amount of same-sex ones as well. Hunter had just automatically assumed that he would be within the majority, and had never entertained the thought of his partner being male as well.
As it turned out, however, he wouldn't be within the "majority" at all.
*
The knock on his door doesn't come until close to two o'clock in the afternoon. Hunter is surprised that they've lasted this long, but he still doesn't feel any more certain about the situation at hand as he hesitantly makes his way from the couch and opens the door. He sees Rachel first, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she sports a look of annoyance. However, Hunter doesn't even have the chance to appear guilty, because the door is being forced open wider and there is Jesse, and the breath leaves Hunter's lungs in an undignified whoosh.
It's like his heart crystallizes into a million different pieces all at once and then comes back together again. A pang thrums steadily through Hunter's chest, and he can't see anything except Jesse. The way his hair curls around his forehead, the sparkle in his blue eyes, the tiny mole next to his nose. He's seeing his best friend in an entirely new light, and the sudden wave of longing that crashes over Hunter is so overwhelming that he feels as if he might collapse right there in the doorway.
Jesse is staring back at him in utter confusion, and Hunter scrambles to compose himself, his fingers slipping from the door and dropping to his side as he tugs restlessly at the edge of his sleeve to keep it in place. He forces himself to clear his throat, gathering enough air in his lungs to mumble out a stoic, "hey."
Rachel pushes past him into the apartment, Jesse following quickly behind her, and Hunter shuts the door slowly, slowly, avoiding the conversation that awaits him as long as he possibly can. His friends are having none of it, though, and when he turns around, they are both staring at him with raised eyebrows.
It hurts to look at Jesse, so Hunter immediately drops his gaze back to the ground.
"'Hey?' That's all you have to say?" Rachel demands. "It's your birthday, and you've been ignoring us all morning!"
"I'm...sorry?" Hunter mutters weakly.
Jesse's scoff echoes loudly throughout the room, and Hunter winces internally, just the sound of his friend's breath enough to set him on edge. All he wants to do is reach out and grab hold of any part of Jesse that he can reach. He literally aches with it, this craving to touch, but he can't, and it's absolutely killing him. The hollow ache in his chest is growing by the second, and he doesn't know how the hell he's supposed to handle a lifetime of this when Jesse and Rachel aren't even touching right now.
Jesse's expression softens after a moment, and he murmurs, "Come on, Hunt, something's bothering you. What's going on?"
His voice is soft, so full of concern that Hunter wants to weep. As it is, he has to fight to suppress a shudder as his own nickname leaves his friend's lips, and he manages to shoot a brief glance upward, looking between Rachel and Jesse before settling his eyes on Rachel again. "It's nothing. Just, ah- overslept a bit, feeling older, all of that."
"But you're twenty one!" Rachel declares, and her tone is so enthusiastic and infectious that Hunter wishes he could hate her.
(But, of course, he can't.)
"I guess it...hasn't really sunk in yet," he replies slowly, and notices out of the corner of his eye as Jesse throws his arms outwards and grins, the concern washing away from his features in the blink of an eye.
"Hasn't sunk in? Dude, you're officially of legal drinking age, and the name of your eternal love is on your wrist," he exclaims. "You should be over the moon!"
Hunter's stomach drops to his feet.
"Who is it?" Rachel pipes in excitedly, her face lighting up as she grabs onto his arm. Hunter jerks his arm away reflexively, his hand wrenching out of her grip, and Rachel's face drops. He promptly feels like an asshole, but the panic is thick enough to prevent him from apologizing as he shuffles back a step and furiously avoids looking at both of them.
"Hunt?" Jesse calls out, and it's like Hunter is abruptly moving through molasses, everything processing slowly and hazily, as if he is experiencing the moment through a blurred eyeglass. Jesse is steadily advancing on him, reaching out to touch his shoulder as he repeatedly calls out Hunter's name, and Hunter tries to keep moving backwards, but he isn't fast enough. It's like his limbs are stuck, the effort to move away from Jesse so excruciating that Hunter wants to give up right then and there. Eventually, Jesse is right in front of him, Rachel at his side with the most genuine expression of concern on her face, and as she touches Jesse's elbow gently in an act of question, Hunter sinks to his knees.
"Hunter!"
He hears them both call out his name, frantic and hurried, but he ignores them and curls in on himself, his thoughts all but shutting down. They can't know. They can't know, his brain screams, and it's all he hears, all he's aware of, as Jesse grasps at his shoulders and Rachel watches on fearfully from his side. Hunter keeps flinching as their hands prod at him, holds his wrist protectively against his chest, and manages to choke out a pained "no." Jesse instantly releases him, and it's like Hunter is able to claw his way out from the hole he's sunk into, just long enough to register his friend's anxious question.
"What the fuck is wrong?"
"Can't...you can't..." Hunter croaks, locking his hands together and tucking them in closer to himself.
Rachel releases a nervous whimper, her fingers moving back to their spot at Jesse's elbow. "Jesse, what's going on?"
"I don't know," Jesse breathes, and Hunter clenches his eyes shut, just so he doesn't have to see them interacting.
His stomach twists.
"Hunter, tell us what's going on," Rachel begs. "We're your friends. Please."
"You'll hate me," he whispers, cracking his eyes back open.
Rachel's gaze is gentle, pleading, but it is Jesse's expression that truly stops him. His friend's mouth is twisted into a small frown, a wrinkle forming between his brows as if he is desperate to know what is going on, but won't show it. His blue eyes are full of warmth and care, and Hunter curls his fingers against his palms in order not to reach out and sink into the familiarity. It's the most painful thing he has yet to experience, this insistence to be close to someone, and Hunter has to suck in a deep breath just to calm himself enough to look away.
"We'd never hate you, Hunt," Jesse says lowly. "You're scaring us. What's happened?"
"I'm sorry. So sorry, Jesse," Hunter mumbles.
"Why are you sorry?" his friend asks. Rachel glances back and forth between the two of them, her eyes wide with confusion, and Hunter finally looks back at her, his fingers cautiously uncurling from against his chest.
"It's not my fault, Rach," he chokes out. "Don't hate me. Please don't hate me."
"What's not your fault? Hunter-" Rachel begins, but her mouth snaps shut when Hunter's hand drops limply into her lap, the sleeve of his shirt hanging loosely over his fingers. He swallows thickly, a heavy weight settling over his chest as he motions towards his wrist with his spare hand, too afraid to push the fabric away himself.
"I'm sorry," he breathes, one last time before Rachel hesitantly latches onto his sleeve and pushes it up to his elbow. Her breath catches audibly, and Hunter can't watch, he can't. His heartbeat is a deafening thrum in his ears, a weak tremble starting in his fingertips and working its way up through his arms. Rachel's harsh breathing suddenly morphs into the quietest hitch every few seconds, and Hunter realizes with a startling ache that she is crying.
Rachel is crying, and Jesse still hasn't said anything.
The shaking in his limbs increases tenfold, until Hunter is nothing but an inconsolable mess in the middle of his apartment living room. Rachel's sobs grow louder, and Hunter wishes he could just disappear, sink into the floor so that neither of his friends have to deal with him any longer.
His eyes squeeze shut again, and then his hand is slipping from Rachel's lap as she bolts up to her feet and darts out of the apartment, the door slamming shut behind her. The guilt is crushing; it eats away at every inch of Hunter's being, and he waits for the inevitable sound of Jesse's footsteps as he follows Rachel out, but it never comes.
He forces his eyes open.
Jesse's gaze is glued to Hunter's wrist. His face is completely blank, the emotions unreadable, and that scares Hunter more than anything. He'd rather have screaming, or crying, or...something. Not this...vacancy.
The silence between them is suffocating. Hunter's chest rattles with every breath, and he keeps his eyes on Jesse, the apprehension growing more prominent in his stomach with each second of quiet that passes.
It seems like forever before Jesse finally opens his mouth, and when he does, his voice is utterly defeated. "I- Hunter, I don't know what to say."
Hunter. Not Hunt.
Hunter's throat burns painfully as he forces out his next few words.
"Do you- do you want me to..."
Leave you alone, he wants to finish, but the words gets suck, won't exit his mouth. Jesse seems to catch on, however, and his neutral expression is suddenly overcome with a sort of stubbornness that only Jesse St. James can achieve, a vehement look filling his eyes.
"No," he states. Then, seeming to backtrack, he grapples with his next words. "I mean- unless you can't- if it's too...hard," Jesse mumbles, then winces.
"You're my best friend, Jesse," is Hunter's weak response.
The tension loosens in Jesse's shoulders somewhat at that. He glances over his shoulder towards the door, then looks back at Hunter, and the apology on his features almost hurts more than the burn of Jesse's name against his skin.
"I'll talk to her," he says softly. "We'll- we're gonna figure this out, okay?"
Hunter tugs his sleeve back down his arm and smiles bitterly, unable to keep the resignation away from his features. He simply nods his head and looks down, mumbling, "sure."
Meanwhile, he pointedly ignores the fact that Jesse's words do nothing to make him feel any better.