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The winds at night in Yggdrasil were warmer and far more suffocating than the soft breeze that Thomas knew in Pandora. In moments like these, he felt the habitual urge to trace circles on his arm where his skin donned an indiscernible flowery image.
Perhaps that was exactly what fate had been screaming at Thomas all these years, that he had chosen the Conspiracy and a noble goal above the pursuit for love.
(Soulmates AU that kinda hit me out of nowhere)