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Despite his soul mark, Curt had never thought someone could love him.
It had nothing to do with any internal flaws he thought he had- he was actually fairly confident in himself as a person. He had a great job as a private investigator and two great friends in Tatiana and Barb, who owned the bar down the road from his apartment.
It was the fact that he was gay.
Society had made great strides in the past couple of decades; homosexuals were no longer considered unnatural creatures that went against the natural order. It was largely accepted that your soul mark was irrefutable, sex be damned. Some parts of the world- like Curt’s childhood hometown- were less than accepting, still sneering at those who ended up in same-sex relationships, but for the most part it was better.
Still, Curt couldn’t help but fear that he was one of the unlucky five percent of the population that just. . . Didn’t have a soul mate.
It was rare, but it did happen; his mother didn’t have a soul mate, despite the small apple placed delicately on her collarbone. He was the result of a fling.
It was nearly impossible to tell the difference between an active soul mark and a dead one. A soul mark was a slightly raised bump in the skin, like a birthmark, and each person had a unique mark on their skin that would hopefully have a match somewhere in the world. The only distinguishing feature was that an active soul mark was a dark brown, and a dead one was black.
Curt’s soul mark- a pair of snake-eyed dice, just above his hip- was too complex for him to tell what color it was.
He sighed. It was a Friday night, no use pondering over things he didn’t have any control over.
He pushed the door open to the bar. “Hey, Tati, can I get-”
The words died in his throat as he laid eyes on the person behind the bar- a man who was distinctly not Tatiana. He was tall and lanky, wearing a button up, slacks, and a thin black tie. His dark hair was slicked back, and he was polishing a glass.
The man looked quizzically at Curt, tilting his head to the side slightly. “I’m sorry, but we’re not open yet.” His voice was smooth, a British accent carrying the words.
Curt tried to stop himself from staring. “Oh, uh,” He cleared his throat. “I’m a friend of the owners’. Name’s Curt.”
Recognition lit up in the bartender’s eyes. “Ah, Miss Slozhno told me about you.” He placed the glass on the countertop and held out a hand for Curt to shake. “Owen Carvour.”
Curt practically stumbled over his feet in his haste to get over there, quickly gripping the stranger’s hand in his. Curt’s fingers ended up wrapped around Owen’s wrist, and they brushed over an oddly shaped raised bump.
A jolt of electricity flowed through Curt, and he felt a tingling sensation at his hip as his brain was filled with thoughts of love adoration affection amazement love love LOVE-
Curt stared dumbly at Owen, still gripping his hand. Owen wore an expression of shock, and he looked like he was overwhelmed.
Carefully, Curt flipped Owen’s hand over and removed his fingers to reveal a raised bump in the shape of snake-eyed dice.
He swallowed, looking up at Owen- his soul mate. “I didn’t think I had a soul mate,” He said quietly.
Owen’s expression had fallen into something more gentle. “Me either.”