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Curt tried to tune out his boss’s voice as she reamed him out for the millionth time this week. For some reason it seemed as if he was off his A-game, and he didn’t know why.
I wish I could hold you.
Curt couldn’t help but smile as the words curled onto his arm in soft brown cursive. His soulmate- whoever they may be, wherever they may be- seemed to always know just what to say to make him feel better.
The words shifted to reflect his soulmate’s changing thoughts. I’m sure I’ll find you one day, my love. Just a little bit longer.
Not if I find you first, Curt thought back.
Cynthia’s voice cut through his thoughts like a butterknife, and he sighed before paying attention to her again. Now was no time to get distracted.
——————————————————————
Curt didn’t have much going for him in his life. He had a shitty office job, a shitty apartment, and a shitty car. All that he really had was the promise of a soulmate at the end of it all, to wrap their arms around his waist and kiss his tears away.
He knew, intellectually, that the world works in mysterious ways, and that they would be brought together by fate when the time was just right, but it was hard. Waiting, that is. He felt like he knew everything and nothing about his love at the same time. He knew that his soulmate was a he, and that he has the most beautiful handwriting in the world, and he gets Mariah Carey songs stuck in his head when he gets writer’s block and he likes to write silly little poems to cheer Curt up when he’s sad, but he doesn’t know him. He wouldn’t be able to pick his face out of a crowd.
Curt wants to memorize every wrinkle of his skin, every hair on his body, the way his laugh echoes in the air. He wants to have an imprint of his soulmate in his mind.
Curt’s arm burned, and he glanced down to see the slightly worried words on his skin. Love? You’re getting sappy again.
I thought you liked it when I was sappy, Curt thought, gently running his fingers over the words. It was the closest he could get to touching his soulmate until they met.
I do, but not when I’m about to get on an international flight and won’t be able to see it.
I hope your meeting goes well, honey.
Me too, my love. Then I can go back to focusing on you.
——————————————————————
Everyone at the publishing house was running around like headless chickens. Some bigwig author from the UK was flying in for a meeting with Cynthia to discuss publishing his next novel with them, and it was all everyone was thinking about.
Curt didn’t even have time to stop and breathe, let alone look at his arm. Cynthia was running him ragged, having him get everything the author could possibly need- from coffee to tea to some weird British snacks he’d never heard of.
He was sitting at his desk just outside Cynthia’s office, face flushed from the running around she’d had him doing and making a chain out of paperclips, when a handsome man approached him. “Excuse me, is this the office of a Mrs. Cynthia Houston?”
Curt stared almost slack-jawed at the man for a moment before he shook his head. “No. I mean, yes, I mean- it’s Miss Houston.”
The man- presumably the author- smiled at him. “No need to be nervous. May I go in?”
Curt nodded quickly, directing the author inside as his mind swirled. This was wrong. So, so wrong. He has a soulmate, he shouldn’t be attracted to just anyone who walks in the office!
He glanced down at his arm to remind himself, and saw the words weren’t brown anymore, but black.
Curt felt as if a bucket of water had been dumped over him. His soulmate was close. His soulmate was here. His soulmate was-
The words shifted, and Curt eagerly read them for a hint, any hint, of who it could be.
Should I apologize to her assistant after the meeting? I didn’t mean to frighten him. . .
Curt acted on instinct. He put down his paperclip chain and let himself into Cynthia’s office.
Cynthia was sitting at her desk across from the author- Curt’s soulmate- casually chatting away, as if nothing was happening. As if the world hadn’t just begun.
The author- Owen, Curt reminded himself, his soulmate’s name is Owen- looked up from his cup of tea, and he smiled, and Curt could practically feel his heart stop.
“Yes?” He said, and Curt listened to the way he spoke softly, the way his accent carried the word.
Curt didn’t think this through. This wasn’t a movie. Owen wasn’t just going to sweep him up in his arms and kiss him fiercely, lovingly, before taking him home and making Curt feel like he’s worth the whole world.
Instead, with tears in his eyes, Curt just held up his arm and points at the words on his skin.
Owen’s face softened, and Curt watched as he placed down his drink before moving swiftly over to Curt. He stopped, a hair’s breadth away, and cupped Curt’s face in his hands.
They say the first touch between soulmates is magical. It’s described as feeling like electricity in your veins, or spending your whole life underwater and finally coming up for air.
For Curt, it felt like he was flying.
He didn’t know how long he and Owen stood there, just trying to take it all in. He didn’t know who moved first. But he felt Owen’s lips on his, tasted the tea he’d been drinking in his mouth, and just knew.
This right here was all he needed.