Alec Hardison

The first time you shave your pubes after you meet your soulmate, the hairs fall to the floor arranging themselves into a sketch of their face.

When you physically touch your soulmate for the first time, a relative you’re close to dies.

You’re illiterate until you find your soulmate. The concept of written language somehow still developed in human history despite this. No one knows or cares why.

Everyone is born with a small locked box on a necklace around their neck, and if you’re lucky you will meet you almost-soulmate, who will have the key that can unlock the box. Inside the box is a written clue that will lead you on the first step of a complicated international hunt for your actual soulmate.

Everything that your soulmate spills on their clothes appears as a stain on your clothes too. 

On the exact moment of your 18th birthday, you sneeze a very wet sneeze and your mucous forms a unique splatter pattern. Your soulmate is the only person in the world who sneezes a snot pattern that has the exact same shape as yours.

When your soul is ready for its mate, a small crocodile latches onto your ankle quite painfully and will only let go once you’ve found your soulmate.

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These sorts of thing were not what Elliot was used to. He did the majority of his work behind a computer screen in his apartment, not sneaking into server rooms like some sort of spy.

Needless to say, he was relieved he wasn’t doing this on his own.

Elliot’s eyes narrowed in focus as he plugged wires into the security keypad with the automated handheld code generator. It would work on running through possible security codes to get them in without tripping any alarms. 

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚔𝚎𝚢𝚙𝚊𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚍𝚎. 𝙵𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚝𝚜. 𝚉𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜.  𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚘 𝙸’𝚟𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎. 𝙽𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚗𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚜. 𝙽𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜. 𝙽𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝟷𝟸𝟹𝟺𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚙𝚒𝚗 𝚗𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚜. 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝚗𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚞𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚞𝚜 𝚒𝚗. 𝙸𝚝 𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚞𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎.

Still, this wasn’t some movie, this wasn’t going to take twenty seconds. Hardison was leaned back against the wall, eyes scanning around and keeping watch. Elliot’s more skittish gaze flickered around while they waited and he felt Hardison hover closer to him, evidently seeing something Elliot had not. A light tap on his shoulder had Elliot letting the number cruncher hang from the keypad as he turned a bit. A security guard was nearing. 

He was regretting it now, watching the little green blip on his phone signifying the tracker he’d planted on the guards blink closer and closer to their location in the building’s map. He said nothing about it to Elliot, not wanting to distract him. Maybe he would be done before it even became a problem.

The guards continued to approach. Hardison checked on Elliot’s progress. It wasn’t going to be fast enough. He didn’t know what Parker and Eliot were doing, couldn’t ask them to make a quick distraction, and god, this was why they always talked in each other’s heads, they didn’t know how to go off on their own anymore, trying to do it any different had been a stupid idea.

me: no i’m not