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Geoff’s counter has been counting for almost twenty-six years now. It’s steadily counting down – just like everyone’s around him is – but his seems to be taking extra-long. (Most likely because he watches all the time, hoping every pretty face that passes him is The One, even if his counter reads a whole nother year.) He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, other than The Moment.
He’s had at least three different people explain what The Moment is (not counting the teachers in the Your Body and You classes, which explain to seventh graders exactly why they have a counter ingrained on their wrist and what exactly it’s counting down to). The Moment, according to some, is the very first time you meet your soul mate – when your counter has hit zero – and you’re overcome with this feeling, this sense, of completion. Of right. Of knowing that this person is your person. The person you were made for and who was made for you. Media leads you to believe that you’re half a circle and you’re not complete without that other half.
Geoff thinks it’s utter bullshit.
Sure, it’ll be nice when he meets his soul mate but he’s also heard horror stories. Although destined to be together, some mates can’t get over certain things. In shallow people, it’s their mate’s looks. In “deep” people, it’s their mate’s lack of intelligence. It’s always little thing because, in their culture, they’re lead to believe that the moment their clocks stop, it’ll be perfect – rainbows, sunshine, and unicorns.
But Geoff’s a realist. Relationships – even those destined to be – are rough. They take effort and work and they’ll never be easy. And that’s fine with Geoff. He doesn’t want easy. He doesn’t want rainbows and unicorns. All he wants is for his mate to be able to look at him and just know.
All he needs it for it to click. They’ll figure the rest out together.
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“Okay, Jesus fuck,” Geoff growls into the phone. “I’ll be there in ten, you dick.”
Jack laughs on the other line. Geoff groans before he says, “Fuck off,” and hangs up. He tucks the phone into his pocket and steps up his speed. It’s not his fault that his brakes went out. It’s the asshole who cut him off in traffic yesterday’s fault. And if Jack was so worried about him being on time, he should have swung by his house and picked him up.
He casts a quick glance at the inside of his left wrist and his heart hammers in his chest. The green dial reads less than ten minutes. He looks around the crowded street and his stomach flips at all the possibilities. So many pretty girls but he can’t catch a single one who’s glancing at her wrist. He’s nervous; practically fucking terrified.
Eight minutes and thirty seconds is going to decide the rest of his life.
His phone starts vibrating in his pocket. He rolls his eyes and answers it, only half listening to Burnie’s words. He’s too distracted to really care about anything his coworker has to say. After a few minutes of silent listening, Geoff groans in the back of his throat.
“Dude, I’m like two minutes away. Lemme clock in and then I’ll pretend to be interested in whatever you’re saying because then I’ll be getting paid for it at least.”
Burnie laughs. “Hurry up, asshole.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Geoff answers, a chuckle bubbling up his chest. He hangs up after a quick goodbye and he ponders his home screen for a moment. There’s no reason for him to have a voicemail, why does he have a voicemail?
He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t notice the counter in his wrist has hit zero, nor does his notice the tiny blonde barreling down the sidewalk, intently staring at her own wrist. But they notice each other when they collide in a semi-painful shoulder check.
Geoff nearly drops his phone as he tries to straighten the poor woman. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Yeah, well, neither was I, so no worries, dude,” she says and Geoff stares at her. She’s small and blonde and covered in tattoos and she is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. Her eyes widen for a moment before a sly smile forms across her perfect mouth. “My name’s Griffon.”
And something inside of him clicks.
Through the dryness in his mouth, he spits out, “Geoff.”
She glances at her wrist then slides her eyes back to him. She cocks her head and reaches forward for his wrist. Her fingers wrap around her prize and Geoff watches in fascination as she rolls over his arm to reveal his empty counter.
Their eyes lock and they smile stupidly at one another. Geoff’s too nervous to ask “So what now?” but Griffon solves that problem by interlocking their fingers and tugging him along, continuing her quest.
He finally finds his voice long enough to ask, “So where are we going?”
Griffon’s facing forward, very nearly dragging the man along, as she answers, “I have been looking for you for a very long time.” She stops – Geoff almost runs into her – and glances over her shoulder. “We’re going everywhere.”
Geoff never makes it into work that day.
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