The sky was the color of bruises— purple fading into deeper shades of navy, scattered with stars that shimmered like distant promises. You sat on the edge of the rooftop, knees drawn to your chest, watching the horizon. Below, the DWMA grounds had quieted. Only the wind moved now, brushing past in soft, mournful whispers.

Beside you, Black☆Star was uncharacteristically silent. No cocky grin. No wild declarations. Just.. stillness. The mark on his wrist— a sharp-edged symbol you’d seen since the beginning, was glowing faintly. The kind of glow that only happened when your soulmate was nearby.

But it didn’t match yours.

You had one too— a soft, looping sigil etched into your skin like a whisper from fate. And it didn’t match his.

He knew it. You knew it. Everyone did.

“I hate this stupid system,” he said suddenly, voice low and rough, as if the words were dragged from somewhere deep. “Soulmates. Marks. Fated crap.” You glanced at him, but he wasn’t looking at you. His eyes were trained on the sky, on the stars he swore he’d surpass one day. Maybe he still believed he could. Maybe he needed to.

“Then why does it still hurt?” you whispered, before you could stop yourself. His hand clenched into a fist. “Because it’s you. And it’s not supposed to be.” That was the cruel thing about it. You weren’t his soulmate. But you fit. Every part of your chaos met his in a way no one else could match. You knew how to challenge him without pushing him too far. He knew how to bring out your best when you felt like your worst.

You saw him. All of him. Loud, proud, flawed, broken, brilliant. And he let you.

Sometimes people asked if it was hard, knowing you weren’t soulmates. As if you hadn’t both lost sleep over it. As if you hadn’t traced the mark on his wrist a thousand times when he wasn’t looking, wondering what it would be like if the universe had chosen differently.

“You don’t have to stay,” he said quietly, still not looking at you. “You’ll find them eventually. Your real one. You’ll know.”