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The concept of soulmates had fascinated scientists across the Earth for many millennia. The fact that two souls can be bound across plains of space and decades of time led some to fall into religious answers and some into doubt about the whole ordeal. How can you be fated to someone who hasn’t been born? It is fate or is it an entity controlling everyone, everywhere
Those who followed religion found comfort in the unknown, because of their soulmate is God’s will, how can I be wrong?
The doubters, or realists as they would have you know, say that it by chance you’ll see someone with the same mark because fate, nor luck or fortune, could predict
Logan was a realist.
He knew that the world was not giving, kind, or pleasing; it wasn’t even cold, demanding, or abusive: the world was indifferent. It didn’t care if you lived or died, or in the manner you did as such. It didn’t care if you laugh, cried, or something in between. The Earth didn’t care if you had a soulmate, it didn’t care at all.
The little mark on his wrist had been there from before Logan could remember. He had been told that he was one of the lucky ones, as humanity progressed, soulmates became more sparse and therefore more enchanting. Once, Logan had marvelled at the fact that someone could be his in all ways but as he grew older (and slowed aging at the same time) he had come to think that they had already passed and gone.
On particularly lonely nights, he fruitlessly clawed at the little constellation on his wrist, the pain bringing a sick comfort in place of what he needed from his soulmate.
Some nights, as much as it goes against his entire being, he thinks that he would’ve been better off if he hadn’t met his soulmate. Then he would be able to go back to the fickle loneliness he once resented as he knew that it was paradise compared to what was coming for him.
The eventual meeting of his soulmate had shocked Logan to his core, he had given up and accepted that he would die alone. And then they came.
They came and changed everything Logan had ever known: up was down, left was right, yellow was blue. But he couldn’t accept it so he ran as far as he could.
God did he wish that he hadn’t run.
Maybe if he knew how much time they had together he would’ve stayed and made the most of the extra weeks. Maybe he would’ve noticed the tiredness and nausea sooner, maybe he could’ve gotten them to the doctor sooner, then maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t be terminal. He might’ve saved them.
After the nausea and fatigue eventually developed into vomiting and more hours being spent asleep than awake. The sickness caused their muscle mass to deteriorate like sand slipping through a timer. They were slowly being taken from him, and he was helpless to do nothing but watch.
Hank had said that he could try and find a cure for this mystery disease as doctors began to refuse treatment, saying that their symptoms lead to nothing. They abandoned them as he once did and he’d be damned if someone would leave them in their time of need.
Hank had said that he could find someone, and it would be done in the early days of the new year. He had said that they needed to hold on just a little bit longer.
So Logan found himself praying to a God he knew found no faith in, in hopes that if anyone, anywhere, could help his Love that they would. He swore to every god and goddess he could name that he would give anything, including himself, for her to survive this. He vowed to be a faithful servant for the rest of his days, he vowed to do anything on Earth. But he received no response.
He then took to their bedside, whispering his solemn prayers, their hand in his as he repeated his invocation and repented all of his wrongs. He did this as if they could save himself as if they were the only Divine being he believed in.
The days trailed on, and Logan watched as his soulmate grew weaker, wasting away in front of his eyes. Logan could remember the nights when watching them grew too painful and how he longed for the days when he resented the little constellation on his wrist but as he watched the gently rise and fall of their chest, he knew that he would suffered through ever gruellingly painful memory over and over again if it meant that he could see them smile like they used too.
“Come on,” he found himself whispering into their hand as he clutched them tight. “Come on. Don’t leave me.”
Christmas came and went, Logan barely noticed. He had stuck up a crappy little tree with lights that barely worked just in case they woke up long enough to notice. In better health, they would’ve chastised Logan for his lack of holiday spirit; he could hear their voice in the back of his head. Oh, how he longed to be scolded by them once again, if only to hear their voice without the deathly rattle that came out when they breathed.
“Come on.” He found himself pleading once again. “Come on. Just last the year and it’ll all be better. You’ll be better. You just need to hold on a little longer. Please.”
But not even Hank could reverse the irreversible. Logan watched as Hank came just a few hours late. He was still grasping their hand as he burst in. Watching the colour drain from Hank’s face was worse than watching her last breath as this made her death real. It cemented it in a reality in which Logan didn’t want to live.
If he could, he would’ve joined her in the stars. Logan had lived many lives and he never knew that something was the last time until it’s already gone and passed. And by that point he was already begging for the moment to come back.