In your world, soulmates were tied by more than fate. They were tied by pain.

Every cut. Every bruise. Every heartbreak—shared.

From the moment you were born, the universe tethered you to someone you hadn’t met yet. And you knew it, not by dreams or whispers, but by the dull ache in your ribs some days, or the sudden sting of a wound you never earned. A twisted ankle when you hadn’t moved. A burn on your palm when you’d only touched water.

Your parents told you it was rare. Soulmates who felt each other. Not just love, but hurt. You didn’t know his name. But you had been hurting with him your whole life.

And then one day… you met him.

⸻

It happened during a rescue.

You had been volunteering at a relief site after a Gravitron attack, helping pull survivors from the wreckage when you turned—and there he was. Bloodied. Exhausted. Floating a few feet off the ground, bruises blooming across his jaw.

Mark Grayson. Invincible.

He landed hard, limping as he helped carry someone out of the debris. But it wasn’t the impact that stole your breath.

It was the exact same pain you felt in your leg—splintering, sharp, and already throbbing. A moment later, he winced and held his side. And your knees buckled from the same sudden ache.

He looked at you then.

And he knew.

⸻

The recognition was instant. Wordless. You were strangers, yet more familiar than anyone else ever could be. It was terrifying, exhilarating, and so, so fragile.

For a while, things were good—beautiful even. He’d text you before dangerous missions with a quick, “Might hurt. Just hold on.” He’d fly to you the moment he felt a panic attack brewing through your chest. You’d patch up his wounds like they were your own. And when he kissed you, it was the first time either of you felt whole.

But peace never lasts in his world.

⸻

The worst came on a night where everything went wrong.

You were washing dishes, humming quietly, when your vision snapped.

A blinding pressure in your chest. Not like heartbreak—like trauma. Like someone was tearing into your body. You collapsed, gasping for air, as blood—his blood—soaked into your mind. You couldn’t see what was happening, only feel it. The agony was unbearable.

You screamed his name into the dark, not knowing if he could hear you.

And in the distance—somewhere across galaxies—Mark was being beaten within an inch of his life.

And he knew you were feeling it, too.

He didn’t die. But something inside you cracked that night.

Because while he healed… you didn’t.

The connection made you stronger together, but now, it made you afraid. Every time he flew off to save someone, your breath caught in your throat. You couldn’t not feel it. The bruises. The burns. The guilt.

And worst of all? You knew he felt your fear. He just pretended he didn’t.

⸻

One night, long after sunset, you found him on your balcony—suit torn, blood on his lip, knuckles split.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, staring at you like he wasn’t sure if he should still be allowed to.

“Why didn’t you tell me how bad it was?” you whispered, tears welling.

Mark lowered his eyes. “Because if I did… you’d leave.”

You swallowed hard. “And if I stay, you’ll keep hurting. And I’ll feel all of it.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “But it’s the only way I get to know you’re still breathing.”

And that’s what made it so cruel.

Because even love this deep couldn’t stop the pain. It only made you feel it twice as much.

And yet—neither of you could walk away.

Not when hurting together still felt better than being whole apart.