Halves

I got a few requests for a soulmate fic, so I kinda sorta combined them together. AU where soulmates are born on the same day, at the exact same time; one soul split into two halves. Most people spend their entire lives searching for their other half, but Kurt Hummel thinks he may have just stumbled upon his in a subway station. Only it’s not quite that simple. 

+++

The desire and pursuit of the whole is called love- Aristophanes, Plato’s Symposium

“Rachel, come on. We’re late for our own birthday dinner.”

Rachel squints at her laptop screen, types a few things, then holds a finger up as she quickly scans yet another database. Kurt rolls his eyes to the ceiling, but decides to take the extra minute as a chance to check his hair again in the cloudy mirror over the sink. 

She has always been fixated on the soulmate thing, for pretty much as long as he’s known her. Though most of it during high school was her being convinced that Finn’s birthday was some mix up or else a wide-reaching mass conspiracy to keep them apart.

But lately it seems to have reached a fever pitch. She is determined to find this mystery man who could be anyone and anywhere. Maybe a business mogul in Taiwan. Or perhaps a convicted felon in Mobile. Aim for the moon, Kurt always says. 

Rachel sighs wistfully and closes the laptop.

“Wouldn’t it just be so serendipitous to find him on the day our souls split- the very moment?” Rachel stands and does a dramatic spin, dress flaring out around her with her arms lifted high; the shining star of her very own delusional one person rom-com.

“First of all, I don’t think spending hours every single day searching Facebook and birth registries to track him down really qualifies as serendipity. Second,” Kurt continues, plucking Rachel’s sweater and hat from the coat rack and handing them to her pointedly. “Hardly anyone finds their twin soul. It’s like a billion-to-one odds.” 

Rachel opens her mouth to protest, no doubt an argument that she’s special and also that no one else has her determination and single-minded drive, which: true. But still. 

Kurt holds up a finger to stop her, grips her shoulders and steers her out the door saying, “Three, we both look fantastic and are completely wasting this glorious day of our births sitting around mooning over something that may very well never happen.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll let it go. For now.” Rachel tucks her hand in the crook of his elbow and her head on his arm as they walk along the hallway and out of their building. 

She hums once they hit the cool spring air outside, “It’s really too bad you aren’t my soulmate.”

“Same day, wrong time.” Kurt reminds her. Again. “Plus the whole gay thing.”

“But what if that doesn’t matter? Because you’re soulmates?”

They stop at a curb, waiting for a break in the traffic before briskly crossing the street. 

“Of course it matters, Rachel.”

“I guess,” She shrugs, not sounding convinced at all. “Platonic soulmates then.”

“I can work with that.” Kurt smiles and pats the hand on his arm in sympathy. She just wants love and romance and that special connection that always seems to be not quite right with the men she’s dated. Kurt can empathize. Doesn’t everyone want that? He’s just never been convinced that it has to be his soulmate. Plenty of people live happy, fulfilled lives without ever finding the other half of their soul. Find love, even.

Besides, Kurt is starting to believe that the whole soulmate thing is overstated anyway. It can’t be that great. Can it?

They make it to their station, jogging down the steps and jostling their way through clumps of people to find a good spot on the platform; the roar and whoosh of a train going in the other direction filling up the confined space. 

A busker sits against the wall just behind them, his music and voice drowned out momentarily. As the noise fades Kurt can make out the sounds of a smooth tenor crooning the last notes of I Kissed A Girl backed up by an accordion, and he laughs to himself. He digs in his pocket for his wallet, Rachel tossing him a look of disdain as he grabs out a few dollars. 

“Supporting the arts,” Kurt says with a shrug. He doesn’t usually give money to the many people set up on street corners with coffee cans full of change or behind an open guitar case in the subway stations. But it’s his birthday and he’s in a good mood. He feels like spreading a little happiness around. Besides, he’s got to give the guy points for ingenuity.

He turns to dash over to the upturned hat placed at the busker’s feet- a sign next to it reading It’s my birthday! Extra tips appreciated! Thank You! Kurt crouches down, hand outstretched, when the guy transitions into a slow, haunting version of Teenage Dream. Kurt looks up, catches his eyes and stops breathing.

Everything slows down and goes blurry around him; the people, the station, the noise, the trains, the city above melting away like a mirage and all Kurt can see is him. He feels a tug at his navel, a physical pull, and he moves closer, compelled, drawn in like a magnet. 

Oh. He thinks. It’s you.

At first he doesn’t understand. He’s never seen this guy before in his life, this strange  accordion-playing street musician who is currently staring at Kurt like he’s some kind of a miracle. The guy opens his mouth, reaches for him-

“Kurt!” 

Kurt snaps to with a gasp, like he’s resurfacing after a dive into the deepest depths of the ocean; the chaos of the subway station rushing back sudden and harsh and too loud. 

“Come on! The next train comes in twenty minutes! If we miss this we’ll never make it!”

As Rachel tugs him away, dumbstruck, Kurt feels like a rubber band is attached to the very center of him, pulled and pulled and pulled until the doors slide shut and the train takes off with a shudder. And then it snaps.

Kurt finds a seat, slumps down and feels like he has to catch his breath, feels wrung out and woozy. Rachel sits next to him and starts chattering, a long monologue that just sort of sounds like static, but he’s grateful for it. It’s grounding. He’s a little untethered; a balloon floating away in the breeze. 

Kurt is pretty sure he’s found his soulmate. And in a city of eight million people, he’s also pretty sure he’ll never see him again.

This turns out to be incorrect. Unfathomably wrong, in fact. 

Just as Kurt is contemplating checking the station later on the next day to see if he’s there again playing absurdly earnest top 40 hits but on a bassoon this time, or bagpipes perhaps, there’s a knock on the door. Bright and early.

Rachel opens it, squeals, then immediately wrenches the heavy door closed and turns around, eyes comically wide. “He followed us home. That’s why you aren’t supposed to give them money Kurt! Now we’ll never get rid of him!”

“Pretty sure that’s stray cats, hon.”

Kurt crosses the room, nudging Rachel out of the way with his hip as she death-grips the door and shoves back against him. He resolutely ignores the pounding of his heart- not to mention Rachel’s screeching- and pulls the door open again.

“I have mace!” Rachel yells, shuffling behind him. Kurt sways on the spot, tries not to gasp out loud. It’s really him. In slicked back hair and fitted jeans, a tight button up with a bow tie, a bow tie, and slicked back hair. He’s cute. Kurt hadn’t even noticed before.

“And a rape whistle!”

“Rachel!” Kurt hisses, then turns back to the guy with a calm, yet friendly smile. “Hello, can I help you?”

He wants to say, You came for me. But doesn’t. Wants to throw himself at the guy. Also doesn’t. It’s insane, the whole thing. This connection he feels, like the air between them has solidified and Kurt could reach out and grip it, viscous and tangible, hold it snug in his fingers and pull them together with it. 

“Hi, I’m Blaine.”

Blaine. The name a tendril around his heart. Of course. Blaine. 

“I’m uh. I’m so sorry to impose but-” Kurt bounces on his toes, jittery and strung too tight, cursing that second cup of coffee he had earlier. He doesn’t even care about all of his earlier skepticism, or the fact that he doesn’t know this guy at all-

Oh god. What if he is a convicted felon. Though if he is he’s a rather adorably charming felon. No matter, they’ll figure it out. Everything about this guy- about Blaine. It’s right. It makes sense. He is Kurt’s other half. Kurt has never been more sure of anything in his whole life. 

Blaine stands up straighter, seems to to steady himself with a deep breath, then frowns down at a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. “I’m looking for Rachel Berry? This says she’s my soulmate.”

NEXT

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    Great twist on soulmate fic.
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I love Glee and Kurt and Blaine. I write about them.This is my happy place.

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