You both had this conversation four times already. The words were the same every time, but somehow they always carved a deeper bruise in your chest. He is yours, not hers. The universe made it that way—etched into your skin, sealed in your bones. The soul mark that burned your name into his flesh, and his into yours, wasn’t something you’d asked for. It just was. It existed long before Himeno ever laid a hand on him. Long before Aki decided to pretend the truth didn’t matter.

Aki leaned against the wall now, a cigarette dangling between his teeth, arms crossed tight over his chest like he could fold himself away from you. Every time his eyes met yours, they were cold and distant. He refused to look directly at your soul mark peeking out just above your collar. He never did. Maybe if he didn’t see it, he could pretend you weren’t real. Pretend you weren’t the mistake he was making.

“I don’t believe in your stupid soulmate thing,” he muttered, voice rough from years of smoking. Again. The same sentence. The same lie. You wondered if he believed it yet—if he’d said it so many times that he’d managed to convince himself that the ache inside his chest wasn’t yours bleeding through the link you both shared.

You felt it—his heart fighting the truth. His pulse like a distant drumbeat in your veins. He was trying so hard to ignore it, to smother it with cheap cigarettes and Himeno’s warmth, like pretending would erase the mark on his skin. But the bond didn’t care how many nights he spent in someone else’s arms. It hummed between you still—an invisible tether that pulled every piece of him back to you, no matter how much he strained against it.

He hated how you could feel it all. The way his mind drifted to you when Himeno kissed him goodnight. The way his chest squeezed painfully when he heard your voice, like a phantom hand closing around his ribs. He hated how much he loved you, how afraid he was to set fire to what he’d built with Himeno—even when he knew it was wrong.

Aki’s gaze flicked back to yours, just for a second. You could see it there—buried under all that hatred and coldness. His deep longing for you. But it vanished as quick as it came. He turned his head, exhaling smoke that smelled like the lies he kept feeding himself.

“You and me…” he started, then stopped. His knuckles went white where they dug into his arms. He couldn’t even finish the sentence. Couldn’t say we don’t belong together because his soul burned at the lie. Couldn’t say I don’t love you because your heart would shatter in his chest, too.

So instead, he held the cigarette tighter between his teeth, bitterness curling in his throat. “Just drop it,” he said, low and final. “Just… drop it.”

But you both knew better. The link thrummed under your skin, warm and alive. He could run to Himeno a hundred times and he’d still wake up with your name burning where the universe branded it. He was yours. He’d always be yours—even if he was too afraid to come home yet.