AH collections

Unfit

Jeremwood
word count: 1343
Chapters: 1

When Ryan was fourteen, he woke up to a slight pain on his wrist. It felt as if the skin was being pricked and burned. He furrowed his brow in frustration, rubbing harshly into the skin to try and alleviate the pain, but it didn't stop. And then for a moment he felt excited.

Was this moment? Was his soul mark coming in? Would he know now the mark that would connect him to his other half? Someone who would love him unconditionally?

He turned on his bedside lamp and waited. His skin still prickled uncomfortably, but he wanted to witness this moment. Five then ten minutes passed. Nothing. He didn't know how long this was supposed to take but ...

In the dim light of his lamp, he began to make out a shape. He rubbed the forming mark and didn't see a name. Instead, it was as if his skin had really been burned and what was left behind was the aged scar. Mottled and discoloured.

He didn't understand at first what the mark meant, but in the coming days he would. It meant that he was loveless. That there was no room in him for love. He was given no mark, and at first it devastated him. The kids in high school were cruel and mean spirited. They didn't want some no mark hanging around them. And when they were older, near graduation and continuing on into Ryan's young adult years, they would come to Ryan and see if they could get a reaction out of him. Make out with him behind a bar. Try to persuade him and bring him back to their apartment or go to his. Their reasoning was that these relations meant nothing. It didn't count with a no mark like Ryan.

There was no love in Ryan. He was told he could not give it or receive it. He'd die alone. Maliciously or not, they'd say it again and again until one day Ryan more or less believed him. It had to be true, right? What else could explain the fact that his own body couldn't make a mark?

So he stopped trying. He stopped being friendly. He gave up on his dreams and ambitions and went into a line of trade that didn't require a heart. He became a hit man.

In the coming years, Ryan developed a persona. He learned early on that it was easier if no one saw his face. Even the people paying him would be treated to the same set up. A mask. Few words. If it didn't work for them, he'd leave and they wouldn't have a name or a number to trace him by. And slowly, the Vagabond took shape.

He noticed distinct changes in his behaviour whenever he pulled on the mask and took up the act. The Vagabond was confident. He stood taller. He spoke deeper. He wasn't subject to the anxieties of Ryan's everyday life. Shirking every human touch even if it was just a bump along the street. The Vagabond was above everything and no one dared to touch him. He had a power that Ryan did not and Ryan appreciated what the Vagabond offered him. Respite from even himself. If he could not be loved, he could at least love himself.

It was a number of years after working on his own that he was approached by a man and a woman of ambition. They offered him a job, like anyone else would, but then they spoke of him joining their ranks.

"You got something special about you," the man—Geoff—said. "And I'm keen on special."

"I'll think about it," the Vagabond said. He took their job regardless and preformed it to a tee. They paid him handsomely and offered him another job. They kept him around long enough to learn of their names and their jobs in this city. Geoff Ramsey and Jack Pattillo. A mean duo that was quietly making a stance in Los Santos. And the more time he spent around them, he had the chance of finding out that they were as entwined as soulmates should be.

Only that they weren't soulmates.

They didn't bear each other's names, but they were deeply in love. Jack shared the story when they were sitting on a roof top, scouting out a gang they wished to remove from the chessboard of the city.

"It didn't work out between me and mine," she said. "He was in love with someone else. A person that I no longer am. And Geoff, well, his soulmate was platonic. He loves us both, but he doesn't share that love for them as he loves me."

It was a lot to take in. Of course, no one in this day and age treated soulmates as the be all end all of life. Non soulmate pairings was less taboo than it was a century ago, but those with no marks were still an anomaly the wider population weren't ready to deal with.

"What about you?" she asked. "The big bad Vagabond. Surely, there's someone out there for you." She laughed lightly. Of course the Vagabond didn't have a soulmate. But Ryan? That was a different story he wasn't at liberty to share.

"No Vagabond-ess," he said. That made Jack laugh, and he was pleased with himself.

Maybe he could be happy yet.

Their trio grew. Four then five with Michael and Gavin. And then six with Jeremy. Soon they were operating as a well-oiled machine, rising up the ranks of Los Santos's criminal underbelly until they were living comfortably indeed. Their own modern empire.

For the most part, Ryan was still the Vagabond around them. Whenever they were in the field or driving off to a meet up or a stake out, the mask was on, the act was in place. There were few occasions when he would let the act drop and introduce them to Ryan.

It was mostly when he was too tired to head back to his own apartment and crashed at Geoff's penthouse. It was uncomfortable sleeping in a mask and keeping up the act of the Vagabond was tiresome work. Sometimes he didn't want to be that serious. Sometimes he wanted to have fun. He wasn't as cold-hearted as his reputation made him out to be.

Michael and Gavin were typical soulmates. From different walks of life, Geoff's offer had brought them together. It was hard at first for Ryan to witness this as he knew this was something he'd never be able to have, but it was nice to see them so happy and so supportive of each other.

And then there was Jeremy. He fit in with everyone. He was easy to be around with. Ryan worked well with him when they were paired up in the field. More than well, he might say. They understood how each other moved, their weaknesses and their strengths. It took far too long for Ryan to realize why that was.

Until he happened to catch sight of the name on Jeremy's forearm, high up near his elbow. His soul mark. Ryan Haywood.

All the others knew of Ryan was his first name. Not where he came from. Where he was born. What got him into this life. And certainly not if he had a soul mark.

But Jeremy had his. And he yet to approach Ryan to ask if he was the Ryan. It was certainly a common enough name.

"Jeremy, I was . . . was wondering if you'd like to go out for lunch some time." It took him days to strike up the courage to ask him. He had no idea if he'd broach the topic of Jeremy being his soulmate any time soon. There was still the other matter of Ryan's mark, still causing him pain every once in a while, still a reminder that he was more or less unable to love or be loved.

"Yeah," Jeremy said. "I'd like that."

But this would have to be enough for the time being.