thousand lives — p.p

ayyyye it’s a soulmate!au & i just really love peter man but u could make it bout tom if u want it’s not v peter specific word count: just under 2k ?

The sun was out.

A fair surprise for every person in who had ventured to the streets that day, considering it was the middle of fucking November. You were pretty sure the sun had only hidden behind clouds for the past couple of weeks. Scratch that, past couple of months.

Okay, maybe the sight of the sun wasn’t that surprising — you weren’t living in some eternal night — but it was more the lack of grey. You couldn’t help but feel it was unsettling to see the sun chase away the clouds that had looked pretty permanent the day before.

Still, there it was — filling the streets and filtering onto the floor of the coffee shop where you stood. Sighing wearily, you did a once-over of your outfit and pondered whether you’d dressed right for the weather, gnawing at your lip with uncertainty. The sun had seemed more like a mirage in the morning and so you still had your warm coat on.

Today was going slow — soul-sucking slow. And while you probably could’ve gone home and wasted time on your laptop for a couple hours, a quaint and small coffee shop caught your eye as you passed by; enough to slow your pace to study it. You weren’t particularly in the mood for a hot drink (I mean, it was a hot day already) but the dinky little shop seemed to almost beckon you closer. Deciding a hot chocolate couldn’t hurt, you started toward the coffee place, listening as the bell tingled with your entrance.

Taking a quick breath, you noted the chocolate swirl in the air before you joined the queue of people, your eyes scanning the menu behind the counter. From behind you, the bell tingled again as someone entered the shop and you instinctively turned to see who it was.

Peter couldn’t help but notice you.

Maybe it was the glimmer of your hair or the flash of your eyes — or perhaps, it was the change in his heartbeat, his senses alighting at the sight of you. He can’t recall ever meeting you and confusion washes over him at his accelerated pulse, glancing to check and yes, your face is unfamiliar. Yet, something tells him that you are more than just another person in the line.

When you turned towards him, Peter automatically averted his eyes, a blush dusting his cheeks. It wouldn’t have been the first time Peter had been caught staring at a pretty girl and he’d rather not face that embarrassment again. But when his eyes flicked back up to you, meeting eyes that he swears he has seen before, loved before; you were already looking at him.

Your expression is one of surprise, maybe even curiosity, asking the question on Peter’s mind but unable to keep the question on your tongue.

“Have we met before?”

They have met before.

In fact, they’ve met many times — countless times in the past, never quite the same as the previous, something always different that proves time has shifted forward. They have met by another name, another time, another place.

Another life.

They don’t know it, but they’ve lived this all before.

The conversation always differs — are you new? let me get that for you. take my hand — as expected, for every first encounter is so vastly different from the last. But this — their nervous first glances, stammering exchange of words and the tug on their heartstrings that tells them they’ve found them. It’s one of few things that doesn’t change, a rule of sort, of the things that accompany their meeting; the most important being,

they meet in the sun, always.

It didn’t matter which godforsaken corner of the earth life had tucked either of you into, nor the season. When he first lays his eyes on you, the sun is basking almost poetically so when you smile for the first time he can compare it to the sun rays.

It’s happened a thousand times and it’ll happen a thousand times more.

He’s never sure at first — perhaps, you’re so familiar now that it’s unsettling. How your smile is one he knows well, how your laugh sounds more like a memory and how he’s loved your eyes before. You’re no stranger to his soul he knows.

More curious than cautious, he wonders why he’s so drawn towards you — Peter swears he’s never met you. Yet, your touch is like an old friend and it feels more like he’s remembering you than getting to know you — he seems to know you before you speak a word to him.

But Peter knows his science and he has a fair grip on how the world around him works — it’s something he takes comfort in. But still, it touches lightly on his mind as he thinks how this particular person seems to fit right next to him.

No one is truly sure on how the universe works — how realities work, how the stars write stories and how dimensions, infinite universes function, how the world changes and shifts through different lives — how two people can swear they’ve met, that they’ve loved each other before.

Peter didn’t believe in soulmates; but for you, he did.

How else could he explain it? How else could he explain the easiness and comfort that seemed to emit from you? The way his hand seems to be made to fit yours? How, though soulmates must only exist in a reality where miracles occur and wishing on stars works, it must be Peter’s reality because his soul already knows you — already loves you.

And you love him.

You don’t know it — of course, you have no way of knowing — but you already love him. You always love him, the same way he always loves you and you don’t know it, but its muscle memory now, you’ve loved him so long.

You see, you’ve loved him through countless lives.

You loved him when he was but a scruffy and scrawny baker homed in a stony European town where life was quiet but peaceful. You were raised in the town over and had blushed when he slipped another pastry into your basket, grinning to yourself and vowing to come back to see the young baker with pretty eyes who already felt like a friend. You’d meet in the village square and he’d bring the tart you loved and you would reward him with kisses, never letting his hand go as you dreamed together under the stars.

You loved him when he was a colourful and clever violin player on the streets of France, scrapping money from who he could and spending all his coins to impress the merchant’s daughter who had a face of a lover he couldn’t remember. You would sneak out to see him in the nights and he would play melodies written just for you, claiming the moon had told him what notes to play because, like him, the moon loved you too.

You loved him when Kings and Queens still reigned and ruled, a lone thief who had captured the heart of the Prince when you were arrested for stealing from the rich and giving to the poor; the town’s own Robin Hood. He had seen your good heart after whispering through the prison bars and together you’d ran through the courtyard in secret, kisses stolen as together you’d whispered your plans and escaped into the night with faith that your love was your protector.

You loved him when wars tarnished the world, falling in love only to have your love torn apart. You loved him even when you were pulled away by circumstance, standing at the train station with tears as you whispered ‘i’ll wait for you’ and kissed him with the love of a burning star, knowing you might never be able to kiss him again.

You loved him when leg-warmers and mullets were in, meeting him and his eccentric dance moves on the dance floor with her even more eccentric hair. Together, you’d tangled up in the decade, the music and each other’s arms, singing and loving through the years together.

You loved him when he was the shy boy next door, drawn to his caring nature and ability to make you laugh whenever — you loved him when you were sharing homework, headphones and secrets as you both sneak out your windows to see one another, giving and taking soft and shy kisses of the boy who feels like home.

You loved him, always.

You were born from the same star, your souls made from the same tangles of fate in a way that means you’re meant for each other. You’ve loved each other for so long, so many moments, kisses, touches shared so tenderly but neither of you remembers in the next life. It doesn’t matter, you love each other all the same.

It’s not always a happy ending — sometimes, fate makes it cruel. Perhaps you couldn’t fight the family that insisted on separating you or he didn’t make it home from the war or one of you couldn’t fight the illness that eventually pulled them from the other. There have been goodbyes, so many shared with tears as one of them desperately tries to keep this piece of their soul with them.

But they are never gone long — another life, another hello, another chance to meet in the sun.

“Have we met before?”

Yes. Yes, you’ve lived and loved — watched kingdoms rise and fall, plagues and wars wipe out populations, sailed the seas and danced at balls, held hands and shared kisses and seen the world, their other half always by their side. You’ve searched through lives to find each other, survived the world as it changed but never shifting yourselves — your soul will always find his. You’re soulmates and not people, not the stars, not life nor death can stop you from finding each other.

“Um, no, sorry—I-I don’t think we have.” Peter stammers out his answer, searching your face — god, where does he know you from — for an answer as to why he feels like he’s coming home.

“Sorry,” you smile nervously—he’s seen that smile one time before, maybe his dreams—rolling your shoulders back and rocking back on your heels. “You just…looked familiar.”

I know exactly what you mean, his mind whispers and Peter finds himself smiling, the beginnings of a genuine grin curling onto the corners of his lips. “Oh! I’m P-Peter.”

He offers his hand out to this stranger — no, you’re not a stranger, he knows you somehow — and the way your hand fits with his so naturally, your grins are like the beams from the sun coming through the window.

“y/n.”

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thousand lives — p.p