Chapter 2
Allen wrinkles his nose at her like she's talking in riddles and Dalia realizes she might as well be.
Her son is not quite nine and doesn't yet know much about Soulmates and Marks.
"It's the meaning of your Mark," she says and he just looks more confused.
"The language has been dead for centuries by now, but those who were so lucky as to be Marked with a symbol instead of a name used to get an inscription to match."
"Oh," Allen blinks.
"And that's what I have?"
His mother smiles and stands, ruffling his hair a little.
"It looks like it," she says.
"Do you want me to try and have it translated for you?"
"No," Allen says, and Dalia realizes he's already losing interest in the conversation.
Her son's attention is a lot like a flickering candle, and there's no telling when the light of his interest will turn to shadow.
"It's alright, so long as it's not weird I'm okay.
I'm going out to play for a bit."
"Alright," she agrees amusedly as she turns to go back to the washing, watching Allen scurry out of the kitchen in a flurry of hands and feet.
"Oh!" He exclaims, rocketing to a stop at the doorway and grabbing at the frame for support as he smiles sheepishly over his shoulder at her.
"Can I have something to cover it with now now?"
.
As Allen grows up he almost forgets about his Mark altogether.
His attention shifts to volleyball and tournaments and the sound his hand makes when he slaps a ball against the court.
He could care less about this girly Soulmate nonsense.
As far as he's concerned twelve is much too young to worry about his future anyway, and his Soulmate will come when they come.
"You're incredible," Izumi remarks one day as Allen focuses on the ball he's bouncing on the heels of his wrists.
"Aren't you the least bit curious about your Soulmate?
I mean, with a mark as unusual as yours they've got to be pretty extraordinary."
Allen shrugs but doesn't stop bouncing.
"That's all way off.
Right now a Mark is just a mark.
Anyway, are you sure you won't come to the tournament with –."
"No," Izumi says and that ends the conversation there.
.
Allen meets Hicks at his first ever tournament outside the bathrooms with anger making his brain numb and something unsettling that he pins as his nerves in the pit of his stomach.
"I came here to win," he declares with all the seriousness he can muster and for the briefest moment he swears he sees Hicks's eyes widen just a fraction but the subsequent blow off and the way he treats Allen like a kid playing pretend destroys any and all hopes of a good first impression.
Allen has never met somebody so arrogant in all his life, and when he hears him referred to as '
King of the Court
' he can't help but think it's fitting.
Not because the name is cool enough to make him squirm but because Hicks is
not
.
He's somebody who seems so superior that even those who stand on even ground with him seemed cowed.
Allen pities his teammates something fierce and admits to himself that half the reason Hicks makes him so furious is the way he takes everything around him for granted.
Allen would kill for a team – for somebody to toss him the ball and pat him on the back when he manages to spike it into the ground – but Hicks treats those things like dirt, and something about that rubs him the wrong way.
"I can't stand that guy," he mutters under his breath as they march into their starting lineups and Izumi shoots him a curious look from the corner of his eye but doesn't say anything in return.
The referee blows the whistle and Hicks hoists the ball up high.
The game begins.
.
Afterwards Allen clutches at the net and tries to breathe through the way his chest is too tight and his throat too small.
It's nothing short of a slaughter – a massacre.
It's not the first time Allen's had his dreams thrown back in his face by reality.
He can come back from this.
In a moment he'll go back to being the happy-go-lucky redhead that everybody expects him to be, but right now he just needs a moment to pull himself together.
There's the sound of sneakers squeaking on polished maple floorboards and Allen looks up just as the net rattles to the sound of somebody on the other side leaning against it.
It's Hicks and for a moment Allen can't do anything but stare because whatever words he wants to say stick strangely in the scrape of his throat.
It might be the first time Allen's been close enough and calm enough to really look at him.
He's still tall and he's still frightening, but there's a look in his eyes that makes it even harder for Allen to catch his breath.
It's something furious and angry and Allen can't quite figure out who it's directed to.
The little scrap of gold and red on his collarbone burns white hot for a reason that he can't explain.
"
You
," Hicks hisses and it's only the fear that keeps Allen from flinching.
"Just what have you been doing for the past three years?"
And that stings.
Stings more than it should because Hicks is just some stupid kid who he met a bare hour ago who doesn't know how to share or play nice or anything about being a decent human being.
It shouldn't hurt – not something like that from someone like that – but it does.
Hicks turns and heads back to the lineup but it's a long moment before Allen can move.