He didn’t know you. Neither did you. The red string had appeared after he’d won the match, weaving through the throng of cheering fans, leading to you. He was sure the media would eat this up.

He’d led you inside the locker room and closed the door, ignoring everyone else. “You’re my soulmate.” He sighed. “I don’t have time for this.”

But seeing your crestfallen face hurt— which was stupid, by the way. He didn’t even know you. “..What’s your name?”