You left ice in my veins when you went away.

You left ice in my veins and ink so thick I couldn't hear you

When Steve was small he dreamed of what his soulmark would be. He'd wake up every morning and pull his hand up so fast it wasn't unheard of to hit himself in the face.

Every morning, his wrist remained pale and bare.

By the time he was thirteen he'd begun trying to write to them. Nothing big. Just simple little things. I hope you had a good day. I can't wait to meet you. If you felt it I'm not sick now, I'm ok...

Every time he held his breath, checked over and over again for hours. Every time he was disappointed.

Somewhere between thirteen and eighteen he gave up. No name, no feelings, no responses...there was no soulmate to love him. It wasn't going to happen.

When his plane went down into the icy water he considered that a blessing. At least he wasn't leaving anyone alone. No one would write to him without him there to comfort them. At least he was alone.

_____

Tony Stark came into the world frigid and pale...pale, minus layers and layers of writing that marked every inch his tiny arms and even his torso. Years of little messages scribbled across his skin. His mother had sobbed at the sight. His soulmate had been born poorly timed. It wasn't common, usually there were only a handful of years at most between them, but there were rumors of it having happened.

It took years for them to fade from his skin. Of course it did, it was years and years worth of messages, after all.

Howard was angry. He said they were messy and disgusting and made Tony look like some sort of thug.

Maria photographed them tenderly, tucking away the photographs for her son. They were his messages. Just because he'd received them before he could understand didn't mean a thing, they were still Tony's and she'd be damned if she let anyone take away what little he had of his soulmate.

Tony, much like his mate had, began to send messages. Unlike his soulmate he didn't wait till his teens.

Anthony Edward Stark loved to learn. Anything he could he gathered knowledge like some kids gathered stuffies or blocks. The first things he wanted to learn were letters. His messages had been fading since the day he was born and he was desperate to read even just one.

He read his first when he was barely more than three. Gude morening. Glad you is o k. I miss you.

Tony's penmanship and spelling improved slowly and with it his messages. Messages sent to a soulmate he'd already missed. He didn't realize that until the last of Steve's messages to him finally faded away, revealing the name on his wrist. That name was all too familiar to the little boy. His comics were Tony's bed time stories, his symbol Tony's favorite thing to draw.

He'd sounded it out in Jarvis' lap and run away sobbing because Tony knew two things with more certainty than anything in this world. Steven Grant Rogers was the best person there was. And Steven Grant Rogers was dead.

Why are you my mate?! You're already gone! He slashed the words in blue sharpie across his skin. You already left me alone and it isn't fair! I'm scared! I thought you'd think I was good! I thought you'd be the one to like me!!

Tony didn't write anything more. Not for nearly a year.

His next messages weren't really for Steve. He never expected the man would even read them. Steve was long gone, after all. Tony simply needed someone to speak to, all the fears and hurts he didn't dare reveal, he wrote to his dead soulmate. What did it matter, after all? He'd never read it.

Tony wrote him every hurt, every fear. Every moment Howard screamed or hit him, he wrote to Steve. Every night where he couldn't sleep, where nightmares would've sent any other small child running for his parents, he hid under his sheets with a little flashlight and wrote to his mate.