Chapter Text
There was one thing Harley knew, and it was that his soulmate was trying to kill him.
Or at least, the terrible food that he kept eating was going to.
The first time he had tasted maple bacon wrapped hot dogs on his tongue while he was quietly tinkering in his garage, he figured it was a craving, though he wouldn’t know how he could crave something he’d never had.
But, thinking it was a sign that he needed to grab something to eat, he picked out leftover chicken wings, shaking out a couple squirts of habanero hot sauce for good measure, and enjoyed the low burn that shot warmth throughout his body.
Harley loved spice. He was sure that he was going to burn off all his taste buds by the time he turned twenty, but the spice was just so enthralling and he couldn’t get away from it.
He had always been an adventurous eater, and if it weren’t his Mama and the many diets that she implemented in the foods she made, he would be trying any and everything he could.
But, healthy food was bland, and Harley didn’t like bland. He loved his Mama, and she knew how to cook, but there’s only so much kale and grilled lemon chicken a guy can have before turning to something with a kick.
It wasn’t until the fifth time did Harley realize that his soul connection had initiated, and good God did his soulmate eat some bad food.
Harley was beginning to appreciate the blandness of vegetables because at least then he wouldn’t have to taste the charred, bitter remnants at what he could only assume to be an attempt at banana bread. After he got a glimpse of these monstrosities that were a sorry excuse to the culinary craft, he would usually get tastes of over artificial takeout, something he hadn’t gotten to taste in years after his Mama read an article on Facebook about a bacteria that was spreading in kitchens at restaurants and the health indiscrepancies that were being ignored by waitstaff and she decided that, despite the fact that she was a waitress, she would not allow their family to eat anything of the sort.
So that was nice. Sweet Pad Thais and savory lemongrass beef wraps and burritos and tacos and everything in between. But he didn’t taste much throughout the day. He was honestly quite worried about his soulmate. At most they had a piece of dull fruit for breakfast (a taste that Harley was not accustomed to because of his many fruit allergies) but they didn’t have anything for lunch and just one dish at the end of the day, and sometimes none at all.
It wasn’t until he was fourteen when things got strange.
His soulmate was eating more, things he wasn’t used to. Protein shakes and protein bars. Was his soulmate trying to get fit?
But what was the more concerning question was a new taste that was becoming more and more familiar on his taste buds. The metallic copper and rust of blood.
Now, Harley isn’t one for the supernatural, but from the frequency (and it was very frequent) that he was having the now familiar taste of blood on his tongue, he was beginning to wonder if his soulmate was a vampire.
And yes! He knew that vampires didn’t exist. But this was a world with aliens and superheroes and dead, genius, billionaires in bright red robot suits crashing into his garage. Were vampires really that far fetched?
But no. Of course they’re not a vampire. Or at least, that’s what Harley had to keep reminding himself despite how ludicrous the concept may be.
One night, he tasted blood and sweat and thick, dirty water and ash and sand.
He didn’t want to know why.
He figured his soulmate needed something that night, so he pulled out his favorite ice cream that he hid in the back of the freezer, hoping they liked it too, and savored the taste, letting it melt on his tongue before swallowing and doing the same. He drank his sparkling water, something that he found comfort in, praying that it would bring his soulmate peace too.
Then his soulmate was suddenly consuming ridiculous amounts of food. Throughout his day, he could taste a myriad of different monotonous dishes and snacks.
Harley began to question who this soulmate was. Were they a binge eater? He knew they were only intaking food. (He’d know if there was anything coming back up, and thank goodness there hadn’t.) Someone who was edging towards becoming severely obsese? He knew it was rude to question such a thing, but when he was tasting churros and hotdogs past sundown, he was growing more and more curious.
And he would soon have the answers to his questions.