Everyone is born with a soulmate. Every soulmate can see what the other writes on their skin. Scaramouche is sitting in his class, gazing at the professor as he forces himself to listen at the lecture. At least until he catches lines appearing on his wrist

'what's it gonna be this time?' He thinks to himself, refusing to admit he enjoys this, as he watches the lines appear. Day after day, he waited for them to get bored enough to scribble their beautiful designs on their skin