#literally sorry

"I can't fucking do this anymore," Jim growls, sweeping past Jax into the apartment.

Jax feels his stomach drop, turns around. "Do what?" he says, hackles raised.

Jim, apparently not noticing Jax's apprehension and already making his way to the couch, does a sort of clawing gesture at his own scalp. "This," he says, sounding strangled. "The hair. I can't keep looking like I'm from Seattle or whatever the fuck."

Oh. Huh. Okay.

Relief washing over him so fast it kind of makes him feel lightheaded, Jax kicks the door shut behind him. "So you want to cut it?"

Jim collapses onto the couch, one leg drawn up and the other stretched out, boots on the cushions and knuckles pressed into his cheek. "Yeah," he says, like it's something shameful. "I need to borrow your clippers." 

"You going bald?" Jax says, fascinated. "The skinhead look can be hot, I guess. I think you could pull it off. Big jump, though." He grabs the folding chair that he stole from work and turns it backwards before he sits down, guidance counselor-style, chin on his crossed arms.

"I'm not going bald," Jim says, shifting.

"Soooo?" Jax prompts, burning up with curiosity. Jim's had that shaggy rocker mop the entire time he's known him. From the very first night, technically their second if he’s going to be pedantic, Jax remembers, Jim under stage lights, curled around his bass like it was a part of him, playing like he was dying, and hair flying everywhere, over his eyes and caught in his mouth. Jax can't imagine him with anything else. 

Jim's eyes, narrowed, flick to Jax's face, and away. "Mohawk."

Jax grins hugely, slaps a hand to his cheek. "Really. Where'd you ever get that idea?" he says, batting his eyelashes. 

"Uh huh. I'll just go get the clippers," Jim says, standing up and starting towards Jax's bathroom. Jax immediately scrambles to his feet and hurries after him, shouting, "No!" 

Jim stops short without turning and Jax bumps into his back with a grunt. Jim cranes his neck around. "Yeah?" 

Jax hooks his chin over Jim's shoulder and grins up at him. "You can't cut your own hair. You'll fuck it up so bad. You have to let me do it. I'm literally an expert." 

Jim snorts, rolls his eyes, but he seems to consider it. After a few seconds, he says, "Fine," and Jax feels so pumped he gives Jim a quick bite on the shoulder before hustling them both into the bathroom and retrieving the clippers. 

Jim's hauled himself up onto the counter, back to the mirror and legs crossed. He's kind of staring absently at Jax untangling the cord, until Jax snaps his fingers to get his attention. "Yo. I need to be able to actually reach your head, dude, sit down." 

"Get a stool," Jim says helpfully.

"Kill yourself," Jax says nicely.

Regardless, Jim gets off the counter. He starts to sit down on the toilet lid, but Jax kicks lightly at his shin. "No, bitch, the ground. Then I can, like, maneuver around you."

Jim gives him a wholly exasperated look but complies, somehow managing to fold his long body onto the floor of Jax's tiny bathroom. Well, almost. His legs are sticking out the door. 

"Take your shirt off," Jax recommends. 

Jim gives him a funny sort of look.

Jax blushes, then rolls his eyes at the ceiling. "So you won't get hair all over it, dipshit. I'm not some pervert."

"You kind of are," Jim says mildly, before his head disappears as he pulls his t-shirt over it. And it's literally not his fault if Jax happens to give an infinitesimally too-long glance up and down Jim's pale, scarred torso, because Jim is the one who had the dirty mind in the first place. Christ.

Jax turns away and roots around under the sink for a bit, emerging with a slightly tarnished pair of shears. He kneels down next to Jim and holds them up. "Do you want anything taken off the top or just the sides?" 

Jim twists his mouth. "Leave the top alone," he says, tapping his fingers on the tile. "For now," he adds. 

"Cool," Jax says, snapping the shears open and shut for show. "Hold still." And he gets to work. 

Snip by snip, locks of Jim's hair fall away, scattering across his bare chest and the bathroom floor. Jax could have stood to lay some tarp down or something, but it's too late now. He'll just sweep it up by hand later. 

Jax doesn't bother being careful; there's no real reason to be, since it's all going to get shaved off anyway. So he sort of hacks away unevenly at Jim's head, and choppy strands of hair float down in droves until finally Jax figures it's short enough to use the clippers. 

Jax puts down the shears and Jim instantly starts trying to get up. "Hey, hey, no," Jax says, putting a hand on Jim's chest and pressing down, "You look like shit right now, don't even bother with the mirror." Jim stills and looks at him, frowning. "It's supposed to look like shit," Jax adds quickly, kind of going for soothing in case Jim is secretly freaking out. "Then it'll look good." Jim just stares up at him wordlessly, not looking convinced. Hey, no second thoughts here, Jax thinks determinedly. He flicks Jim on the side of the head. "It'll look so fucking good, man," he continues firmly, "Dudes will be falling over themselves to get a piece of your action after this. Million bucks, I'm telling you."

Jim snorts at that. "Just do it already," he says, nonetheless somehow looking mollified at Jax's inane reassurance. Jax salutes him and stands up. He plugs in the clipper with appropriate panache, then returns to kneel at Jim's side. "Prepare to become so fucking hot," he says solemnly, and presses the 'on' button. Jim nods.

When the clipper first touches his scalp, Jim shudders, and Jax instantly clicks it off, dropping a hand to Jim's shoulder to hold him down. "Hey," he says. "Hold still. You'll make me fuck it up."

"I haven’t done this in a while," Jim says, but when Jax returns the clipper to his temple he doesn't flinch.

They fall into a silence, the only sound the buzzing of the clipper between them. Jax doesn't have to ask to get Jim to move his head; all he has to do is simply place his fingertips along the side of Jim's jaw and Jim tilts his head exactly where Jax needs it. 

Jax sweeps the clipper across the curve of Jim's skull, then runs a thumb along the same path to check the length, make sure it's even for Jim. Can't have him running around with a choppy cut, Jax thinks. People will think no one's taking care of him. 

Jax finds he needs to change his position to more easily look between the sides of Jim's head, so he extends a leg and drops into a crouch over him, face to face; now he can lean left or right and quickly check each side as he slides the clipper over in iterations. After a bit, though, his legs start to cramp, so he just gives up and sits down, kind of in Jim's lap. Jim doesn't seem to mind.

When Jax finally speaks to ask if Jim wants to keep his little sidelocks or not, his throat feels rusty and the words come out a little fried. 

"No," Jim replies, and his voice is kind of low too.

Jax nods, mouth dry, and slices them off.

Jim's hair is basically done now, but Jax fusses over it a bit longer, making little flicks with the clipper to correct each tiny imperfection, getting everything absolutely right. Jim seems restless between his thighs, and says, "You're leaving some, right?"

"Hold still," Jax snaps, and essentially shaves off a single hair. 

He leans back, examining Jim with a calculating eye. "Yeah. Okay. Good."

"Can I use the mirror now?" Jim asks, sounding a little testy.

Jax regards him for a few moments in silence.

"Nope," he says finally, and pounces. 

(Hair clippings be damned.)

Having the element of surprise on his side, he's able to bowl Jim completely over as he kisses him, hard and messy. Jim opens his mouth on a yelp and Jax immediately takes advantage, shoving his tongue in deep enough to lick Jim's molars.

"Dudes will be falling over themselves, huh?" Jim says, having grabbed Jax by the shoulders and yanked him off to breathe, sounding sharp and bright and smug and Jax wants to fucking kill him or kiss him or worse. Instead, he bites him, hard, right at the bend between neck and shoulder, and that shuts Jim up alright. 

Jim slips a hand into Jax's back pocket, so Jax slides a palm against Jim's newly shorn scalp, and they both shiver in tandem. Jim ducks his head to catch Jax's lips and Jax wants to groan with how good it is, how good it feels to have Jim's mouth against him.

Jax has just started to shift his body downwards, deciding he needs to get his mouth on Jim's chest, when a sudden arc of pain stabs through his knee. He swears, lifting himself off Jim to see what he's knelt on, and removes the shears, previously forgotten on the floor, from beneath his leg. They'd sliced clear through his jeans and into his skin. Jax presses two fingers to the cut and they come away red. He rubs them together absently, smearing the blood.

"What is it?" Jim says then, up on his elbows, craning his neck to see what Jax had been distracted by. Jax wipes his fingers on his shirt and shoves the shears away, sending them skittering across the floor. "Nothing," he replies, and hauls Jim up into a sitting position to crush their mouths together again. Jim makes a noise that sends a chill from the top of Jax's skull down to his sacrum. 

He squirms as Jim's hands rove across his torso, bites down hard on Jim's lip when the other slips a hand up the front of Jax’s shirt. "Fuck," he pants against Jim's cheek, resting their temples together. Jim's other hand slides beneath Jax’s shirt up his spine and Jax arcs his back. "Fuck," he mutters again, eyes shut tight, and writhes in Jim's lap, it feels so fucking good but he needs more, "Fuck, come on, come on, baby--"

Jax suddenly wants to kill himself.

Fuck, his brain says pleasantly. You goddamned lovesick idiot. You've just fucked up what was shaping up to be a really good afternoon and now Jim is going to fuck right off.

Fuck, Jax agrees woefully, and he's already starting to weigh the pros and cons of various excuses and exit strategies when Jim grabs Jax by the skull with both hands and kisses him hard enough to bruise.

Excuses and exits are instantly driven out of his brain. Jax sighs into Jim's mouth, letting Jim push him down, rearranging them so now it's Jax with his back on cold tile and his bootheel a single twitch away from demolishing a roach motel, and Jax fists a hand in Jim's remaining long hair and pulls it hard, and Jim pushes Jax's shirt up to his chin and Jax can feel the prickles of shorn hair stabbing into his torso where they're skin to skin. He draws a knee up and hooks a leg around Jim's thigh, as if that's enough to keep Jim there, keep him pulling Jax apart on this filthy bathroom floor, surrounded by wisps of brown hair and smears of blood, even though he knows it's not, knows it's stupid to hope for and unfair to want. He wishes, feverishly, that they could be closer, somehow, that Jim could crack open his ribcage and let Jax curl up there, right between his lungs. Skull clacking against the tile, he feels a warm trickle of liquid crawl down his shin from his knee. 

Abruptly he kicks at Jim, forcing him to pull back. Jim looks a little confused at first, but once Jax turns over onto his stomach, he catches on pretty quick.

–

One hand planted squarely in the small of Jax’s back, Jim leans over, says against Jax’s ear, “In the cabinet?”

Throat dry, heart pounding like a rabbit’s, Jax shakes his head. “Don’t bother,” he rasps, cheek on the tile, jerking his hips up so he has space to undo his belt buckle. “Just– fuck my legs.” Jim says nothing, but gently bites the back of Jax’s neck. Trying to ignore the way his hands are shaking, Jax gets up on his hands and knees, and Jim grabs his jeans by the waistband and shoves them down. Christ, he thinks, lightheaded from arousal, as his injured knee sends stabs of pain up his leg. Jim curls over him, slips in between, one hand shoved beneath Jax’s rucked-up shirt to knead a nipple. Jax gasps, pushing backwards, grinding onto Jim’s pelvis. He doesn’t touch himself, keeps both palms braced against the cold, dirty tile, as Jim thrusts against him. Jim slips a finger through Jax’s nipple ring and pulls; Jax swears, back arching involuntarily. Jim kisses the side of his face and Jax suddenly wants to cry, not sure why, feeling something cold in his stomach despite Jim’s skin warm against his back. It comes as a shock when Jim reaches a hand around and grabs him; he’d barely thought about getting himself off, totally focused on squeezing his thighs tight around Jim, rocking with Jim’s rhythm. He hangs his head, arms trembling, as he’s jacked off, and it’s good, but fucking Christ, he feels weird, feverish, ill. Sweat moistens his forehead; he picks up a palm to wipe it off and sees short brown hairs stuck to his skin. Jim exhales sharply behind him, pulls away and Jax feels warmth splatter on the backs of his thighs. He follows not long after, Jim’s hand tight on his skin. 

–

They finally manage to wash the hair off themselves in the shower. Forehead against Jim's back, Jax watches it swirl down the drain with the shampoo suds. His knee has scabbed over.

–

The day your timer stopped, you were almost sure your heart did, too. Of course, you were still alive, but you felt a shock pulse through your body- the source clearly the black, tattoo-like timer ingrained into the skin of your wrist- and suddenly, the numbers, which never seemed to stop moving down, closer and closer, had frozen. 00:00:00

It wasn't possible. 576 days, 3 hours, 24 minutes- it couldnt just drop to zero. Your heart stopped as you watched the zeros blink one, two, three, times. And then they stopped. They remained there, still and black against your skin.

You didn't meet anyone, didn't even look a new person in the eye. You were walking with your best friend, and that's not how soulmate timers work anyways. They tell you when that's going to happen, they don't just stop because you coincidentally ran into your soulmate. They know- they don't make mistakes.

Your limbs were heavy, so much so that you stumbled forward- slumping into your startled friend's arms and gripping onto his navy blue t-shirt. Tears were rolling down your cheeks by then, staining the shirt with remnants of mascara as a shooting pain burst within you, sending your eyes rolling back into your head, and you collapsed on the side of the road.

Maybe it did stop your heart, but the source of the pain was your very soul breaking apart. From then on, when you left the hospital you were admitted to in a fit or panic from your friend, you became somewhat of a thing of legend. Somehow, during your sleep, another timer had burned itself onto your skin. Only this time, rather than on the right side, as everyone else's timers were, and was your old timer, another appeared on your left. No-one understood it. You only had one soulmate, one timer. Your soulmate had died, you didn't get another chance.

There was physically no possibility that your soulmate was alive. What you felt was the pain that comes with your earthly bind being broken, your soulmate's timer stopping with their heart.

People started to say things, make their own theories as if it was any of their business. You became nothing but the legend- nothing but the gossip that went around about your second timer. You were nobody- only your timers mattered.

Some people said that maybe you got a new soulmate, or maybe that timer was counting down until you died, and could be with them again. Like some update, or new implement to the system. Some, the really crazy ones, said maybe your soulmate came back to life. That wasn't possible, though. Bringing back dead people wasn’t something your society did. It was a waste of resources and time, and there was no sense bringing back someone who most likely would be without a soulmate anyways. They had broken their bond, it was too late. Your soulmate was dead. 

But somehow, you had a timer - a second timer- and no way to know what it was counting down to.

The attention lessened a lot since then. People got bored, it became less of a common debate and more of an occasional conversation starter; a way to break the ice since everyone and their mothers seemed to know about it. It was annoying at first, but eventually it got to a point where you couldn't care if you wanted to.

It's exhausting to get annoyed whenever you hear something spoken about you behind your back. Every day, multiple times a day. You're the girl with two timers- the only one. That's just what happens. People wonder about things they don't understand.

The sidewalk was wet, the early morning rain's leftover puddles splashing around your almost-bare feet, swishing around in the grooves where your feet wore down the insole of your sandals after too much time in them.

The grey sheen of clouds guarded your eyes from harsh rays of the sun, letting in just enough for it to be daylight. Everything seemed to give off a duller, greyer light than the bright, colorful one it would under sunlight, and you liked it. Too much sunlight always ruined your mood.

It was too bright, it hurt your eyes, and sometimes when everything was perfectly similar, which wasn't a rare occurrence, you could almost feel that snap, the burst of pain racing through you again.

You glanced down at your broken timer and sighed softly to yourself. Tearing your eyes away from the zeros was almost harder than looking at them in the first place.

You were over it by now- or at least as over it as you ever would be. It wasn't the same as losing a pet fish- as devastating as that is- because your soulmate was someone you were destined to spend the rest of your life with. Someone who could never be replaced by anyone, because even though you were a fully capable and functional person by yourself,  they were truly your other half. The other half of your soul, destined to be combined back into one and live happily. No-one else could be that. No-one could replace them or fill that spot. Of course, eventually you would meet again- you were still bound by soul, but not by body. You would live the rest of your life without them. Would never know who they were or what they did, or liked.

That was what hurt the worst. You never even got to know their name.

But you didn't think about it further. You were over it.

You had fallen into the belief that your second timer would count down to your own death, and so you'd duct taped over it two months ago. You were constantly thankful you had done that,  as it made it a hell of a lot easier to get through the day when all you could see on your left wrist was a black strip of duct tape and a hell of a lot of bracelets.

The street you walked on was relatively lifeless, the mornings storm prompting usual city-goers to remain within the comfort of their home, whereas you didn't care how the humidity would affect your hair. You didn't really have anyone you cared to try and impress. Everyone you had had seen you at your worst and stayed for your best. They didn’t care what you looked like, at this point.

Maybe it was good that your soulmate was gone, in some ways. You dressed for yourself, spoke how you wanted to. You never worried about them wanting you to be something different. You ignored your timer.

The skin of your wrists tingled in retaliation, wave after wave of subtle shudders up your arms, down your spine. It could've been just because you were tired, your mind was playing tricks on you- but you couldn't help but think that something out there just hated your guts, and decided to send constant reminders about the bad memories trapped in the black numbers on your left wrist.

Strong, sharp buzzes familiarized themselves with your back pocket as your phone rang relentlessly. Answering it was a task you never wanted to complete, talking on the phone always just seemed to suck the energy right out of you, but ever since your soulmate, people would worry over even the simplest things. It was almost like no-one wanted to believe that you were okay- but you knew they just didn't understand, and they were trying to put themselves in your shoes.

Truthfully, the idea of losing your soulmate was worse than the reality. Now, it only hurts when you think too much into it. You didn't know them- didn’t know a thing about them except that they were your soulmate, but hell- what all did that mean, really? You were bonded together but fated to never meet, so clearly they weren't supposed to be someone important in your life anyways.

The case of your phone was warm to the touch after so long of resting so close to your body, but the glass didn't have the same comfort, and your fingers flinched back in surprise at the cold. Sucking it up, you slid the green 'answer' icon and held it up to your face.

The screen was smooth, like ice but just so slightly warmer against your skin. Your voice was un-familiarly cheerful, enough to send a wave of chill bumps crashing over your arms, though that could've also been the wind.

"Hello?" You forced a smile as if it would be seen, eyes crinkling up at the corners with the force of habit.

"Hey, i was just calling to see if you wanted to come over tonight for dinner?" Mingyu's voice rang in your brain, along with millions of excuses on how to escape seeing Mingyu and Wonwoo.

Mingyu had caught you- quite literally- when your soulmate died, after the overwhelming sensations had caused you to pass out on the sidewalk- and it was very clear that it had all but traumatized him. He was constantly worrying about you- and you loved that he loved you enough to care but it got embarrassing sometimes and you were pretty sure Wonwoo hated how much of Mingyu's time you stole.

Your eyes were on the sky, but the soft grey clouds never registered among your racing thoughts as you fought to find some way to get out of dinner. You had just gone over the night before last, and even if mingyu didn't think so, you were clearly starting to become a nuisance. You couldn't say that, though, of course.

"Well, i-" After all that thinking, mind racing and exhausting, you didn't even need the calculated excuse lingering on the tip of your tongue.

Two shouts cut off your words as you fell to the ground alongside someone else- clutching onto you as if you were a rope and they were hanging off the side of a bridge- even though you were clearly set up to hit the ground first.

Your phone was forgotten, immediately clattering to the concrete  beside your feet as you fell back. It was almost like you were watching it slow motion, but it was all so fast that you hardly registered that you were falling at all until you hit the concrete with a thud and pained grunt. You didn't even have time to take a breath before another weight landed on you, knocking whatever was left of the wind out of your lungs and the back of your head against the cold hard ground.

You could hear Mingyu shouting concerns and threats over the phone, but it hardly registered for the loud ringing in your ears you couldn't seem to place the source of.

Gruff, blatant curses bounced off the pavement and slammed into you as the man pushed himself away. You almost whimpered- it was so loud and you needed at least a few minutes to recover from the impact, but you bit your lip and reached up to touch the back of your head instead, attempting to give the impression that you actually had it all together.

"-fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, God, fuck i'm sorry, are you okay? Shit, damn it all- how hard did you..."

Your eyes open slowly at the sound of his voice trailing off, skin tingling and heat rushing up to your face in utter humiliation. Why did he stop speaking? Did your sweater come up? Was your hair even messier than usual? Did you know him? You were pretty sure you didn't recognize his voice, but anything was possible, right?

God, your head was killing you- radiating with sharp pains whenever you moved, but your eyes trailed over his face anyways. You were still splayed out on the concrete, breaths coming back heavy as you re-learned how to breathe.

His hair was a soft, perfect mess of amber locks framing his structured face. His skin was beautifully golden, eyes deep and dark brown, staring in wonder at his right wrist, where his timer should be. He stood above you like a statue, elegant and large in your view from the ground. His body was thin, perfectly proportioned, and the grey light reflecting from the clouds and off the ground gave you a perfect view of him, unlike how the sun would cast shadows over his face.

It felt like forever, the seconds pausing as time stopped for him, as should any mindful being stop for something so beautifully majestic.

His eyes remained frozen on his wrist, calculating until finally something within him snapped and he looked back to you. You released a breath you didn't know you were holding, finally feeling able to move as did he. You pushed yourself up on your elbows, brain pounding in your skull, and he dropped to his knees alongside you.

"Are you okay? What's your name? Fuck- i'm so sorry, i wasn't paying attention to where i was going." His voice was soft, not high-pitched but not low either. There was a tiny bit of rasp as he spoke, though it could've  easily been the shock of the whole situation putting strain on his vocal cords.  You weren't sure.

You gave a slow, steady nod and forced a smile. "Yeah, i'm fine. Are you?"

His eyes lit up like a child first seeing his Christmas present as relief flooded through his veins, and he smiled. His teeth were straight and white, lips thin but beautifully pink and soft-looking- smile accented by a subtle shine from where he licked his lips in panic as you lay on the ground, clutching at the back of your head.

"Perfect, now that i've met you."

You shuddered. Maybe, under different circumstances, where your soulmate was alive and that burst of butterflies appeared at even the chance of finding love, you would have felt that fluttering in your heart, but it wasn't like that anymore. Your soulmate was gone, his wasn't- hell, he could already be with his soulmate, but he was blatantly flirting with you. It wasn't a situation you trusted anymore, you had gotten to where you knew better.

"You- what?" You stuttered, cheeks heating up from the second-hand embarrassment you felt from his words. Maybe even fury. How dare he say something like that, knowing if he were to date you he'd leave the second his timer stopped.

"Well, my timer. You're my soulmate. That's what." He teased lightheartedly, holding out his wrist to show that his timer had, indeed hit 0 and turned white against his skin.

But it could have done that ages ago.

He froze, sensing your disbelief, and observed you for a few seconds. You looked like all that was beautiful, and broken, in the world. There was a gash in your lip from biting it as you hit the ground that you didn't seem to notice, and your eyes held secrets that he couldn't understand or explain if he had a million years to try. He didn't understand you, and you didn't appear to like him very much.

He leant down, hands cold and a little clammy as he took your arm in the palm of his hand to gently flip your wrist over. He froze once more, eyes dark and cold when he saw the grey zeros on your wrist.

You were confused, scared at the way he stared, fingers tracing over the lines on your wrist. He stared as if you even having such a timer was a crime against humanity- like he wanted nothing more than to cut it off himself and if that didn't work, burn it beyond recognition

The boy suddenly didn't seem so cool, seem so big or so put together.

He didn't look lost- he clearly understood, and so did you. You pulled your wrist away and started to push yourself off the ground, but he grabbed it back, gaze snapping over to observe you in disbelief. His free hand took your left wrist, pushing back the bracelets that hid the tape, and he knowingly pulled it off, just gently enough to not hurt you.

"So it's you? I didn't want to believe it- not that having two timers is a bad thing, i just didn't want to be the reason."

You were going to pull away, you wanted to- but you were curious by now.  What in the hell was he talking about?

"About 10 months ago i was in an accident, a bad one, and i wasn't going to live, my doctor asked me for permission to try some tests on me and see if he could bring me back after i died, if the soulmate bond would re-form, and i let him.  He did it, and it worked. But the first thing i heard about when i woke up was the girl with two timers." He spoke calmly, careful to explain in full detain while at least somewhat shortening the story so it didn't bore you into leaving. "My timer restarted when my heart did, but your heart didn't stop when your timer did, so i guess you had to have another one. Look."

He prompted your eyes downwards, turning your wrist to face you with the second timer, now bare and open for your eyes to find. It was white. Six zeros, perfectly aligned, all white. Your eyes widened, heartbeat sped up, emotions flooded through you. You couldn't just believe him, that would be stupid. There was no way your soulmate died and came back to life. You knew the majority of your societal norms and rules were based off the timer, if your bond broke they never bothered to try and bring you back. They just assumed you would lose your bond, and people without soulmates were considered rogue, disgusting outcasts who couldn't be expected to act civilized if forced. They weren't bad enough to kill whomever was left behind, but the last thing they wanted was an extra soulmate-less person. Once they were gone, they were gone.

So why would they bring him back?

"Prove it."

At that, he looked a bit taken aback. You understood why- how was he supposed to prove something like that? But your soulmate was dead, and your society didn't bring people back, so you're not going to just believe him. It easily could've been some odd coincidence.

"We're the only ones here, your timer turned white and so did mine, normally-"

"This isn't normal. Nothing about this is normal- don't use 'normally' as your proof."

"Well then i need to kiss you." He argues, crossing his arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes at you.  

"You're not kissing me! That's just a myth anyways!"

You had always heard that the first time you kissed your soulmate, you would see one short flash of your future with them, but you wouldn't remember what it was until you got to that point in time. Some people say that they can remember a single image from it, but you've never met anyone who's even gotten to the point where they remember the vision in the first place. You'd never asked though, either. It was possible that maybe they somehow knew they had the vision, but you weren't about to kiss some random man to find out.

Usually, people knew when they met their soulmate in the first place.

"Well, sorry!" He exclaims in frustration, grabbing your arm and leaning to press his lips to yours before you had time to react. He knew it was wrong, but he also knew it worked, and he knew that he had found his soulmate and he wasn't giving them up just because he happened to die that one time.

You started to shout, tried to pull back, but you were frozen in place as an image flooded your mind. You and he were there, in the cereal isle in some grocery store- you didn't look much older but you had on a necklace matching one around his neck, and you were holding hands, your broken timer full on display as if to confirm it. You couldn't see your face, but you saw yourself gently shove him and heard him whine and playfully smack your butt. As soon as it began, it was over, and the image was gone. You knew it was there somewhere, you could feel it- as if looking at a painting from behind. You knew it was there, knew what it was, but you had no idea what it looked like.

You gasped and shoved him away, pointing your finger accusingly in his direction.

"How dare you- you- you manipulated me, i distinctly told you no!"

"But we're soulmates, i had to prove it to you! You wouldn't listen to me- you saw it though, didn't you? I saw it, i know you did too, you had to. I can see it on your face!"

You didn't feel the first, or the second, or the third raindrop as you sat there, glaring accusingly in his direction, trying to think of some argument to his statement, which was, in fact, true, but you couldn't think of one. Your mind was blank, and you didn't really think of anything at all until the first of an all out downpour rained down on you. You screeched in shock, feeling your clothes soak through almost immediately, your hair sticking to your forehead.

His hand grabbed for yours once more, but this time you didn't pull away, instead letting him pull you up and running with him over to the closest shelter, which was nothing but the small overhang, glass walls, and bench of a nearby bus stop.

You were as wet as anyone could possibly be forr such a short time in the rain- your clothes were damp but not soaked except on your back, and you shivered at the heavy, cold wetness on your skin, but didn't complain. Your hair was frizzy, no doubt an utter mess, and it stuck to the sides of your face and you could smell your shampoo as if it were fresh, but you only sighed and reached up to attempt and calm it.

"I would be a a hell of a lot more mad at you if you were wrong, i hope you know. I would probably report you." You grumbled in annoyance, fingers gliding like butter over your skin as you attempted to push the wet locks of your hair from where they stuck to your face, tickling your clammy skin.

He smiled to himself, nodding in understanding. He was calmer after the rain,  hands smoothing out his own hair and eyes lazily tilted up with his smile.

"I wouldn't have done it if i wasn't positive, swear."

You, too, smiled. For the first time in almost a year, you felt the butterflies in your stomach again. Your soulmate, somehow, was alive and right here, and even though you probably should've been angrier at him for forcing it on you, he had reasons, and you couldn't help but feel too overwhelmed with relief to think much about it.