#shout out to tgp for helping me sound like i know wtf i'm talking about

[elsaclack]

Girl your recent soulmate AU fic!! It was…Poetic Cinema. The hurt/comfort. The pining and smitten Jake. Amy’s “You were worth the wait.” Gosh everything about it was so beautiful. I love it a lot! If you don’t mind, would you write a fic of when they’re talking about soulmates? The line where Amy reminds Jake that he’s felt his soulmate since he was 7 intrigued me and I’d love to read how that convo went. Love your writing and can’t wait to read what you write next!

HIIIIIIIIIII THIS IS KINDA LATE BUT BETTER LATE THAN NEVER RIGHT

anyways it got angstier than i meant it to?? also originally in my head there wasn’t really any one solid conversation where they talked this through - i kind of imagined it as amy slowly gathering information up over the years as jake peppers little comments into otherwise-unrelated conversations if that makes sense. i did always intend for amy to talk about this at some point in this canon - originally, jake only overheard her talking to terry and rosa about it, but i also really liked the angst potential of jake kind of skirting the subject with her and her coming out and saying this without realizing who exactly she’s talking to.

that’ll make more sense when you read it lmao

anyways the first part is set in the captain mcginley years, and the second part is like...their third or fourth date (bc i’m apparently incapable of leaving perfectly good angst as-is in this au)

His chest feels heated with the intensity of her frustration.

It’s been going on all morning - growing stronger by the hour - and if he weren’t so exhausted and hungover from his evening out with Rosa and Charles the night before, he might have the wherewithal to worry.

As it is, he contents himself with the fresh coffee wafting out of the paper cup in his hand and the knowledge that he’s only fifteen minutes late today instead of his standard thirty.

Amy’s voice reaches him the moment the elevator doors slide open, and he can’t help himself - he grimaces into his cup. Because he recognizes that tone: lofty, arrogant, know-it-all lecturer, at the absolute peak of her soap box in the break room. Her conviction is a burning ember glowing bright inside his chest; through the partially opened blinds he sees her standing near the vending machines, turned inward toward the table where Rosa and Terry are held captive, face scrunched just so the way it does when she’s in the midst of a debate.

Inwardly, he sighs.

Charles is waiting for him, hovering near his desk, gaze flitting between him and the break room with blatant nerves. “Hey,” he says, and though his tone is gentle, it grates against Jake’s head like nails to a chalkboard. “You hungover?”

“Yeah,” Jake grunts, letting his messenger’s bag fall from his shoulder and collapsing back into his seat in one movement. “What’s got her all riled up?”

“I don’t know, I just got here,” Charles settles in Jake’s guest chair and leans in, elbows planted on his knees, as if they’re sharing some big secret. “I think she’s talking about the nature of free will?”

“Wow,” Jake toggles his mouse until his computer screen lights up. “Sounds fascinating. Ya’ think closing that door will drown her out?”

“I doubt it. Jake,” Charles leans in closer and Jake pauses, fingers hovering over his keyboard. “I think it has to do with soulmates.”

He’s not certain - he has no way of being certain - but he’s pretty sure he manages to keep his composure despite the block of ice suddenly dropping into his gut. “Okay,” he says slowly - and blessedly, his voice remains steady. “Am I supposed to care about that?”

A look of bewilderment passes over Charles’ face, before indignation takes its place. “I know she’s your soulmate, Jake,” he hisses, leaning back as Jake jerks forward.

“Keep it down,” Jake hisses back, glancing over his shoulder at the break room. He can’t see her face but her voice is still carrying - and her emotions remain steady, not an ounce of shock among them. “How the hell do you know that?”

“You told me. Last night. After your fifth whiskey. Five-Drink-Jake is a chatterbox, I tell ya’ -”

“Does anyone else know? Rosa?”

“She was gone by then. Unless you told the cabbie on your way home, I’m the only one who knows.”

Jake huffs out a breath and drops his head, relief overwhelming for a moment, before snapping back to attention and leaning in closer. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“Jake -”

“I mean it, Boyle, no one can find out about this.”

“You have to -”

“I’m not ready for that yet, and it sounds like she isn’t, either.” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the break room; Charles’ anguished gaze flits from his face to the door and back again. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone about this.”

Charles stares for a moment, before his shoulders drop. “Y’know I’ve been looking for my soulmate for almost twenty years?” he says softly. “I’d give - I’d give anything to find them. And the minute I do find them...I don’t want to waste another second.”

He leans back in his seat - triumph filtering in through the earnestness - and Jake drops his gaze and bites out a sigh. “This is so not the time or place,” he mutters, “and I’m hungover as hell - I hate Drunk Jake.”

Charles snorts and prods his arm, forcing his chair to roll backwards. “Go,” he says, “Rosa and Terry just left, she’s alone in there.”

“Alright, alright,” Jake grumbles, hauling himself up to his feet and snatching his coffee cup off his desk before trotting off toward the break room.

She’s facing the vending machines when he steps inside, affording him a moment to just watch her shift her weight from foot to foot. The burning conviction he’d felt is still there, though less-pronounced now; she’s mostly consumed with deliberation, as if choosing what plastic-wrapped crap snack is the most healthy option for breakfast. She tilts her head to the right - likely trying to read the nutrition facts on the powdered donut packaging - and a lock of dark hair escaped from her pristine bun slips from behind her ear to lightly graze against the shoulder pad of her pantsuit jacket.

Oh, god, his soulmate wears pantsuits.

He turns his attention to the coffee table and clears his throat, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning in response to her genuine pulse of fear accompanying her quiet gasp. “I’d go for the jumbo honey bun,” he says as he measures out his cream. “Those are fresh. Vending machine dude just loaded ‘em in on Monday.”

“They’re also...half your recommended daily caloric intake,” she says; he allows himself to grin, now, because the amusement in her voice echoes ten times louder in his chest. “Honestly, it’s shocking that you’re such a high-functioning human being and not...constantly going into glucose-related shock.”

“Hey,” he turns his head and finds her staring at him, brows slightly furrowed, eyes lit. “You think I’m high-functioning?”

She rolls her eyes and turns back toward the vending machine, but he can still feel her struggling between amusement and exasperation. “I’d say you’re high-functioning for someone who puts his body through as much abuse as you do. High-functioning in general? That’s a whole different conversation.”

He laughs as he stirs his cream in - and a thrill crashes through him, one entirely unrelated to his own amusement. He glances over his shoulder to find her watching him, her grin somehow bright and half-hidden at once.

His heart skips a beat.

“So...I heard you in here talking to Terry and Rosa earlier.”

Her amusement fades fast; an odd mix of embarrassment and defensiveness take its place. “Yeah,” she says - and her voice is definitely guarded. “I just - uh, we were talking about soulmates. I guess I got a little loud.”

He leans back against the table, still stirring, watching her run her finger down the glass in an ill-fated attempt and seeming nonchalant. “I couldn’t hear what you were actually saying,” he says after a moment - and a minuscule pulse of relief bursts somewhere down in the pit of his belly. “I could just hear that you sounded kind of upset.”

He lets the statement hang, lets it ruminate in her mind. Dozens of emotions are flitting through his chest, so quickly it’s nearly dizzying; she braces a hand on the side of the vending machine and sighs, leaning forward until her forehead audibly clunks against the glass. “My brother...found his soulmate last night.”

Despite the fact that a distinct heaviness clings to both her words and his heart, he feels his brows rise toward his hairline instinctively. “Well that’s - that’s good, right? Isn’t...finding his soulmate a good thing?”

“In theory,” she grumbles; he winces in time with her own pulse of regret. “I mean, yeah, of course it is.” She turns slowly and leans backwards, until her shoulders press against the glass. “I just - it’s got me thinking, is all. He’s the fifth one of us to find his soulmate - it’s just me and two other brothers at this point.”

“And, what, you’re worried you’ll be the last one? Or that - that you’ll never find yours?”

“I’m just frustrated by the whole idea of soulmates in general.” she snaps. “I mean - think about it! Objectively speaking, the concept of two people who have never met before being, like, perfect for each other - or, or completing each other, being each other’s perfect half - whatever metaphor you wanna use! Objectively speaking, it’s completely screwed up! We want to believe that we as humans are afforded the right of basic free will, right? That our lives are anything we want them to be because we get to make our own decisions and choose our own paths, right? Well, if we don’t get to choose who we love - if some big cosmic entity just randomly pairs us all up, the idea of free will itself is a big sham! Who’s to say we don’t have soulmate jobs, or soulmate apartments, or soulmate clothes - who’s to say that any of our choices in life are our own?”

She’s breathing hard, the vending machine forgotten, and Jake’s struggling to remember how to form words. “I-I don’t - I don’t think it’s that deep, Santiago,” he manages to rasp. “It’s not like - it’s not like you’re losing some part of yourself when you find your soulmate. Look at Terry and Sharon. They just happened to meet at a random farmer’s market and they’ve been so happy ever since, but Terry never would have looked twice at her if he hadn’t felt her freak out when that guy stole her purse -”

“I just - I don’t want some random person I don’t know to come gallivanting into my life, thinking they’re entitled to some part of me, because someone else said so.” she interrupts, quieter than before. “I want someone to choose me because they want me. Not just because I’m their soulmate, and not because the universe made the decision for them. I want them to choose me, and I want to choose them, too.”

“Huh,” he hears himself breathe. “I’ve never actually thought about it that way.”

The tips of her ears flush pink as a wave of self-consciousness washes over him. “You just - assumed your soulmate would eventually find you and everything would be perfect?”

“No. I assumed I’d find my soulmate and everything would be perfect.”

Amy’s chin lifts a degree. “You’re receptive?”

He taps his chest. “Since I was seven years old.”

Her brows raise and her surprise is genuine. “Seven,” she repeats softly, and he nods. “That’s so young.” He pulls a long sip from his coffee, watching her process. “Must be a strong connection.”

He lowers his cup slowly, coffee swishing between his teeth before he swallows. He blinks, and behind his eyelids he sees the chalk-scribbled pavement, hears the distant shouts of a soccer game in progress, feels the ghost of her sheer panic squeezing his chest for the very first time. “I’d like to think so,” he admits as the memory fades, voice barely above a whisper.

She presses her lips together as she nods, before inhaling and plastering on a smile. “Let me know when you find them,” she says with a brightness he knows she does not feel.

“Oh, trust me,” he says as he pushes off the table, “you’ll be the first to know.”

“You sarcastic sunnovabitch.”

Jake blinks, frozen half-way through the motion of licking his ice cream cone. Amy’s staring at him like he’s just gone and grown a second head, her own ice cream dripping down her cone, dangerously close to her fingers. “I’m sorry,” he says once he’s recovered, “what did I do?”

“I just got it,” she says, smug and self-assured, and her conviction tickles in the space between his ribs. “I just understood your stupid little inside joke.”

“...’kay, wanna fill me in, then? ‘Cause I definitely don’t get it.”

“You once told me that I’d be the first to know when you found your soulmate.” He furrows his brow, before the memory comes flooding back all at once. “I thought you were just being your usual annoyingly sarcastic self, but you were messing with me, weren’t you?”

“I’m always messing with you, Santiago,” he nudges her side with his elbow and she huffs, playfully indignant. “But, yeah, I was definitely messing with you then.”

“Well that officially makes you a liar. J’accuse!”

He lets out an indignant squawk around his ice cream. “I never lied to you about us being soulmates!”

“Excuse me, but you most certainly did lie!”

“I need receipts or I’m not paying, lady.”

“You told me I’d be the first to know when you found your soulmate - otherwise known as me - but you admitted yourself on our first date that you told Charles first!”

“When I was drunk! My critical thinking skills were compromised! My judgement impaired! Sober Jake would never in a million years -”

“Dissociate and place blame all you want, Peralta, you lied and I caught you red-handed.”

It’s hard to maintain the facade of defense when her amusement and affection are just short of suffocating; after a moment of grappling, he breaks, a broad grin splitting across his face, which she immediately mirrors. “Fine,” he sighs - not an ounce of dejection anywhere in sight. “I’m sorry that I lied and said you’d be the first to know when I actually drunkenly told Charles first. How can I ever make it up to you?”

She pretends to mull it over - she pretends she can’t feel every last ounce of his affection rearing up like a tidal wave at the way the neon pawn shop lights glow against her skin - and then her bright, happy gaze fixates on his face. “You can take me back to my apartment and pretend to watch a movie while we make out on the couch instead.”

“If I have to.”

She lets out a laugh and snatches his hand, but before she can bound off town the street, he tugs her back with just enough force that she stumbles, right into his chest. He swallows her surprised gasp, humming at the mingling taste of his chocolate ice cream and her strawberry; there’s a distinct splat of her ice cream hitting the sidewalk as she lifts both arms up over his shoulders to curl around the back of his neck, curving his back just slightly to better reach her.

“Never gets old,” she whispers against his lips, fingers gently combing through his hair as they slowly break apart.

“You know what else never gets old?”

“Hm?”

“Die Hard.”

“We are not watching Die Hard. Absolutely not.”

“What if I’m the big spoon tonight?”

“Nope.”

“What if I’m the big spoon and I make pancakes in the morning?”

“You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

“Big spoon, pancakes, and I’ll convince Rosa to sub in for you on that stakeout with Charles next week so you can go to that exhibit at the Met?”

“You really are my soulmate, aren’t you?”