John knew about soulmates, of course. Everyone knew. Upon hitting puberty, a lucky few would manifest a familiar, which would guide them to their fated match, and they'd connect and live happily ever after.

Sentimental bullsh*t. John had neither the time nor the interest in connecting with anyone just because some higher power decided it had to be. So, when his familiar—a very vocal, pitch-black cat with big yellow eyes—first led him to his soulmate, John had ignored it. He'd made it very clear he had no intention to bend to fate's whims.

But, of course, the universe was a b*tch. John's soulmate was a magic user like him, and present in literally all of his circles. He'd learned to recognize that pleasant tingle on his skin whenever his soulmate was near, and the two had eventually come to an agreement. They were cordial. Polite. Friendly, he'd concede. But nothing more. Even if his and his soulmate's familiars disagreed (vehemently) with their humans' decision.

John was not the type to believe in destiny. He believed in choices. He wasn't about to let anything determine what (or who) he got to do. Over the two decades since, he'd been involved with various people and some non-people (entirely too many, if he was being honest) and he was happy that way. He didn't need a soulmate.

His blasted familiar had other ideas. Not only did it ignore John's wishes and constantly seek out his soulmate, it had a habit of following John's dates around, meowing loudly, biting their fingers, hissing at them, trying to make his love life as difficult as possible. And, worse, it liked his soulmate more than him.

"You little traitor," he growled, narrowing his eyes at his feline. "I'm your master. You're supposed to like me best."

The cat looked at him, blinked slowly, and jumped into the lap of his soulmate, curling up next to the other familiar, already nestled peacefully there.

"Bloody sh*thead," John grumbled, frowning. "And you!" he snapped at his soulmate. "Stop laughing!"