Hirotsu didn’t believe he was a person destined to have a soulmate. He decided to forget the fact that he didn’t have anybody’s name marked onto his skin, until you came into his life.

Beautiful, but young; you claimed to be his soulmate, his name inked onto the soft skin of your arm.

“I don’t believe in such things anymore,” Hirotsu says, earnestly. He flicks the ash at the end of his cigarette and goes on, “You were born too late for me, honey.”