Chapter Text
The journey to the residence takes a while. As you finally park your car by a large, old-looking mansion, you can’t help the slow whistle.
You knew land is much cheaper in the countryside but this is much more impressive than you expected. You step out of the car and look around.
The mansion is clearly dated. The wood is painted a pearly white colour. Most of the curtains are drawn. The yard extends beyond the driveway. It’s covered in a layer of snow, the branches of the trees hanging heavy from the weight.
The snow crunches under your boots as you circle over to grab your bag from the passenger’s seat. You shiver a bit in the cold.
Winter really hit out of nowhere.
A small pathway has been cleared from the driveway to the front entrance. A few steps take you to a wooden door.
A small shack stands in the middle of the yard. The house is situated by a lake, offering a stunning view, and you can see a small dock, a boat capsized and covered on the shore by it to wait for spring.
You wonder if the ice is thick enough to carry already.
You see a few snow-covered flowerbeds by the house, a rusty watering can forgotten by one of them. The water inside is frozen.
You turn your attention back to the house. You wonder how someone who lives alone can fill up all three storeys.
The heating bill must be astronomical.
You press the doorbell and shift your weight from one foot to another. You wait, and after about a minute, you hear footsteps approaching.
The door is swung open.
“Come in.”
You pause to look at the man. He’s in his early thirties. He’s wearing an apron smudged in paint. Underneath, you can see a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt.
He’s on the shorter side and his eyes are firm and a little stoic. His black hair is cropped at the bottom but otherwise reaches his neck. It’s pulled in a ponytail to keep it out of the way. In the pocket of his apron, you can see a few paint brushes.
You knock your feet against the wall a few times to shrug off most of the snow before you walk in. The mansion smells a little stuffy, but not in an off-putting way. If anything, it’s a bit nostalgic.
“Levi Ackerman?” you ask and offer your hand. “Reporter Mona Reader, from the Oaksville Weekly.”
He takes your hand for a brief handshake. You notice his fingers are very thin and delicate, befitting of a painter. You see a few splotches of dried paint on his hands and forearms.
His arms are covered in full sleeve tattoos, mostly depicting nature. You only pause to give them a cursory glance.
He holds out his arm.
“I can take your coat.”
You smile and shrug off your heavy coat. As he puts it away, you look at the entranceway. He has obviously tried to preserve the old timey vibe of the mansion. The floor is made of maple wood and the cabinets and furniture look rather old.
Only the walls give away this house belongs to an artist. Covered in artworks of different styles and eras, you can’t help but let your eyes linger.
“Here are slippers.”
You jolt a little. Levi has placed a pair of slippers in front of you.
“I suggest you wear them. The floors get cold during winters.”
You lean down to undo the laces of your heavy boots. The slippers are soft and surprisingly comfortable. You notice Levi’s wearing a pair himself.
“Follow me.”
You nod. You hoist your bag over your shoulder and fall into step behind him. He walks you through what seems to be the main corridor of the ground floor. A mahogany staircase leads up to the second and third floors but he guides you past it.
You arrive at a large dining hall. A table stands in the middle, surrounded by six heavy-looking chairs. The windows are so large they take up most of the walls, endgulfing the room in sunlight.
You look at the snow-covered yard. There doesn’t seem to be many people living in these parts. The last house you saw was a good four kilometres away and here, Levi’s property is not bordered by other houses but a thick forest.
Levi pulls one of the chairs.
“Have a seat. I’ll be right with you.”
“Take your time, Mr Ackerman,” you reply as you seat yourself and start rummaging through your bag.
“Just Levi will do.”
“Alright. Feel free to call me Mona, then.”
He nods and walks off. You lean back in the chair and get everything ready. You set up your laptop and place your tape recorder on the table.
You take out your notebook and place a pencil on top of it.
Then, you start waiting for Levi to return. Your first impression of him is rather pleasant. The house is very nice and clearly furnished and renovated with care and love.
Levi returns in five minutes. He has removed his apron and washed his hands. He gives your setup a brief glance.
“Would you like some tea or coffee?”
“Tea would be lovely, thank you,” you reply.
“What kind of tea?”
“What kind do you have?” you ask.
“Just about every kind.”
You chuckle. A fellow tea lover, it seems.
“Will you make some for yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll have what you’re having,” you say with a smile. He gives a simple nod and walks off, into what you assume is the kitchen.
You hear the sound of water running and rummaging as Levi goes through his cabinets. Five minutes later, he returns with a pot of tea, two porcelain tea cups hanging from his fingers.
He places the pot down and sets a cup in front of you. He pours in some tea and the smell makes you smile.
“Ginger lemon?” you guess.
“Yes. I enjoy citrus tea after a painting session.”
He gets seated across from you. He pours himself a cup of tea and meets your eyes. He waits for you to speak up first.
You reach for the tape recorder.
“Do you mind if I record this?” you ask. He shakes his head. You turn on the recorder and make sure it’s recording properly.
You then pull up Levi’s profile from your laptop.
“This is Mona Reader. It’s currently 12th of December, 2017. I am interviewing painter Levi Ackerman for an upcoming report for the Oaksville Weekly.”
You turn to Levi.
“Feel free to decline any questions I ask you. I will send you a copy of the interview tapes after I’ve conducted all the interviews.”
“Alright.”
“Let’s start with some basics. You have supported yourself with your paintings ever since you were only seventeen. What made you want to be a painter?”
Levi takes his time thinking what to reply. He stares off for a bit and eventually, he answers, voice even but a little awkward. He’s clearly not used to being interviewed.
“It calms me down. Plus, the images in my head won’t leave me alone unless I paint them out.”
You watch Levi’s thin fingers slip into the handle of his teacup. He picks it up and takes a sip. You do the same.
It’s brewed to perfection.
“This is tasty,” you remark with a blink.
“Thank you.”
“Aside from painting, what else do you enjoy doing?”
“I like nature.”
You wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.
“Is that why you live in such a remote location?”
“I need peace and quiet to paint. I find the noise of the city distracting.”
“That makes sense,” you reply with a smile.
You try to warm him up with a few more casual questions. He doesn’t care for television or sports, he enjoys cooking. He paints ten to twelve hours a day, doing little else.
“You have an exhibition coming up next February where you showcase your newest collection. Tell me a bit about it, please.”
Levi shifts in his seat. He has a reputation for being private and he doesn’t allow for interviews often. He clears his throat.
“It’s called Five Stages and it consists of fifteen paintings, divided into five different categories.”
“Have you finished the painting process for them already?”
“...Almost.”
“How many do you have left?”
“Just one.“
“So, what’s the theme of this exhibit?”
“Grief.”
At that, you perk up. You lick your lips and glance at your file on Levi. You wonder if you should probe now or leave it for later.
“Your previous exhibit was seven years ago,” you finally say, arranging your words carefully. “Then, the theme was soulmates. What prompted you to do another exhibit after such a long time?”
“I felt like I had to.”
“May I ask why?” you respond. You sip on your tea and watch him, eyes curious but very gentle.
Levi sighs, obviously a little irritated. You instantly make a mental note of it.
“You have your file on me, do you not? I’m sure you have some intel there.”
“...I do,” you admit. “These are all unconfirmed but there are some rumours that your soulmate passed around five years back. I hate to probe, but are these rumours related to your newest exhibit?”
Levi hesitates. His dark eyes gain a sheen of sadness.
“I don’t want to answer that,” he finally says. You nod and move on.
Your eyes trail along his body as subtly as possible but you can’t see his imprint. Somewhere on his body are the initials of his soulmate.
You always hated the concept of soulmates. You disliked the thought of being destined for someone and your disregard for finding your soulmate has made you a bit of an oddity.
Most people try to find theirs as quickly as possible and settle down. For you, your imprint always felt like a shackle.
You wonder if Levi at any point felt the same, especially now if he’s truly lost his soulmate.
It’s said to be one of the most painful experiences known to modern science. Many don’t make it.
You ask a few more routine questions before reaching to turn off the tape recorder.
“I will be visiting you daily for a week to interview you and observe you work, as we agreed. Are you in the mood to paint now?”
You look at the clock. It’s just over eleven.
“I’m alright with that.”
Levi gets up and collects the dirty cups and pot from the table. He drops them in the kitchen and then starts leading you upstairs.
The hallway on the second floor is quite narrow. The doors you pass are all closed save for the one at the end.
Levi’s atelier is rather large. The curtains are drawn open, overseeing the frozen lake and you pause to admire the sight. It’s started snowing and the scenery is oddly peaceful, if a bit lonely.
There are racks lined by the walls, filled with canvases of different sizes. Some are filled, some are blank. A wide shelf holds a large collection of paint brushes and different hues of oil paint.
In the middle, by the window, stands Levi’s work station. He has a large canvas hoisted on a stand. Next to it is a glass jar filled with different sized brushes. Tubes of oil paint are arranged on a small table next to his chair.
You give the painting a curious look. It’s not finished yet and you pause to look at the hues of brown, red and orange.
On one glance, you think it’s flames. On another, you conclude it might be a sea of leaves in fall. On third, you wonder if it’s a sunset.
You can’t tell what it depicts, then again Levi’s style is very abstract. He’s not known for painting sceneries or portraits.
“Is this the final piece of your exhibit?”
“No.”
You feel tempted to ask where the final piece is, but you decide not to. You don’t want to be too intrusive the first day.
Levi is halfway to his chair when he realises there’s nowhere for you to sit. He walks out and returns with a large armchair.
You can’t help but notice his biceps are clearly toned as he carries the large chair in with relative ease. He sets it down a little distance away from his work station.
“If you need anything, feel free to ask.”
You nod and sit in the chair. You didn’t take your laptop with you because you were worried about the keyboard sounds distracting Levi. Instead, you took your notebook and pencil.
You lean back. You’re not right next to Levi but you can see his side profile and some of the painting just fine.
He grabs his apron, ties it around his waist and pulls his hair tie off. You watch his hair fall down, reaching far down his neck. He ties it up again, making sure no strands of hair remain to fall over his face.
He picks up his palette. You note it’s clean. He must have washed it before the interview. He squirts a few different, warm colours on it, picks a paint brush and mixes himself a beautifully rich shade of brown.
He starts painting. Hand light and eyes sharp and focused, he lets the brush glide over the canvas, the colour meshing with the others, creating brilliant depth to the piece.
He seems to forget you’re there. He focuses intensely on what he’s doing and the sight is oddly mesmerising. The little dabs of his brush, the way he sometimes pauses for extended periods of time to size up his painting, deciding what else it needs.
The sight calms you, so much so you eventually stop taking notes and instead just watch Levi work.
You only realise you’re being observed when you feel a light sensation at your ankle. You look down, only to see a black cat sniffing the leg of your pants.
You look at it for a moment, and when you offer your hand for it to sniff, the cat flinches and sprints out of the room.
Levi turns when he hears the sound. He sees the tip of a black tail disappear down the corridor.
“She doesn’t really like strangers,” he tells you. “She gets nervous when there are people in the house.”
“Does she have a name?” you ask curiously.
“Nova.”
“That’s a pretty name,” you reply with a smile. Levi’s eyes shift just a tiny bit.
“I didn’t pick it,“ he replies, but he looks oddly fond. Pained, but fond.
You want to ask who did, but you don’t want to be too intrusive. You’ve got a week to get to know Levi better.
“Do you get guests often?” you ask. Levi shakes his head and turns back to his painting. You glance at the door curiously but the cat is long gone.
Your eyes fall back on Levi. He works for hours without saying a word, and the quiet passion with which he paints is as awe-inspiring.
Yet, he also looks lonely. Like he’s in pain.
And despite the warm colours he’s painting the canvas with, his piece looks lonely, too.
-
As you return to the office around four, most people are still at work. You wave at Marco and Bertholt as you pass by their work stations.
The office is small and quite run-down. It’s located in a more remote neighbourhood of Oaksville where there aren’t a lot of businesses around.
The rent is cheaper here.
Your station is situated by the window, overseeing the mundane and snowy parking lot. You sit down and take out your laptop.
The Oaksville Weekly is a small newspaper, with only a handful of employees. It’s far from the most popular one but you chose to work here because the stories are in-depth and meticulously researched.
Mr Zhao, the owner and editor-in-chief, is known to not compromise accuracy for anything. As a result, the Oaksville Weekly has a small but very dedicated reader base.
You glance at the door to Mr Zhao’s office. It’s closed, but from inside, you can hear his muffled voice, heatedly arguing with someone.
You know the paper is struggling with funding. As a result, Mr Zhao has been more and more stressed lately.
He steps out around twenty minutes later. A man in his late 50s, he’s worked his whole life in journalism. He has huge bags under his eyes and he combs his thinning hair back, face absolutely exhausted.
“Mona,” he greets you and manages a genuine smile. “How was the interview?”
“Mr Ackerman is very subdued and I can see why he has a reputation for being private,” you reply, looking up from your laptop. “But watching him work was quite fascinating. He’s a bit on guard still, but I hope I can win his trust eventually.”
Mr Zhao nods.
“That’s why I sent you. You put people at ease,” he replies with a chuckle. “Keep up the good work. I’m heading out for today, my daughter is visiting.”
You smile and wave as Mr Zhao leaves. You write a few pages of drafts, but you soon space out.
Soulmates. If Levi truly has lost his, then the progression of his exhibitions is heartbreaking. From soulmates to grief. Love to loss.
You touch your shoulder absent-mindedly. You have your imprint there, two letters marking the person you’re destined to be with. Only, you have covered yours with a tattoo of red petals.
You don’t want destiny. You don’t want a soulmate. You’re determined to live your life free. You want to fall for a person because of who they are, not because they were appointed to you by a birth mark.
You sigh. You think about the lonely look in Levi’s eyes as he painted, cooped up in his atelier, surrounded by nature and solitude.
You wonder if you’ll wind up as lonely as Levi is. Well over ninety percent of people marry their soulmates and the few who don’t are often people who, despite searching, haven’t managed to find theirs.
You absent-mindedly open the imprint database. A worldwide bank of imprint initials and locations, aimed to aid people with finding their soulmate.
For it to be a match, the imprints have to have each other’s initials and be in the same place.
You never entered yours in the database. You never checked it to see if your soulmate has entered theirs.
You look at the top banner. A collection of photos, of soulmates kissing, hugging, at their wedding. They all look so happy.
Your mouse hovers over the search button for a moment but eventually, you close the window and shake your head.
“Oh.”
You turn. Marco is standing behind you, a cup of strawberry tea in his hand. He places it on your desk.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to snoop. Are you finally giving in and starting to look for your soulmate?”
“No,” you reply immediately. You glance at the tea.
“I was making myself some, you looked like you could use a cup, too.”
That’s Marco for you. Always so considerate. He’s the newest employee, only having started work five months ago. He’s a young reporter fresh out of school, hardly in his mid-twenties. You give him a small smile.
“Thanks.”
You look at Marco’s wrist. The initials JK are imprinted on it. The imprint has turned from black to red, signalling he’s met his soulmate.
“How is it?” you suddenly ask. “Being with your soulmate.”
You don’t know much about Jean, but you know they met in college.
Marco smiles, looking a bit nostalgic.
“He was like a magnet. The moment I saw him, he pulled me in. I wanted nothing but to be with him.”
“And now?” you ask. Marco’s smile turns warm and fond.
“And now, he’s my husband and there’s nothing I want more than to stay with him. I don’t care if it’s destiny or fate or whatever, I have never felt better than I do now that I’ve found Jean.”
You bite the inside of your cheek and mull over Marco’s words.
“But is it truly happiness? If you didn’t choose him?” you ask.
“Who knows?” Marco shrugs. “Maybe he’s my soulmate because only he can truly make me happy. Maybe I would’ve picked him even if imprints didn’t exist. I don’t know. All I know is that he makes me whole.”
Whole, huh.
“I see,” you reply, deep in thought. You space out a little, thinking through Marco’s words. He pats your shoulder.
“Well, you do you. I’m happy with Jean, but you should make your own decisions.”
“I will,” you reply absent-mindedly.
You think about Levi again. He had his soulmate but he lost them. Was the happiness then worth the pain now?
You wonder what your soulmate is like, but you soon shrug the thought.
You don’t want to know.