Blaise ran his hand over the dress robes in front of him as he inspected them. Draco stood next to him holding up two different sets of silver-threaded dress robes, debating the merits of each, but Blaise wasn't even looking. His mind was on his mother’s latest letter—another frantic, ink-smudged confession of "true love" with a man whose name she’d likely forget by autumn.

"Mother has replaced the Italian Count with a French duelist," Blaise said, his voice a cool, bored melody. "It’s the same cycle every time. They arrive with grand promises, she burns through their devotion in a matter of weeks, and then they’re discarded like last season’s fashion."

Draco glanced at Blaise at that, a smirk tugging at his lips. "The Italian Count lasted longer than I expected. It seems as if I owe Theo a few Galleons. He insisted the man wouldn't make it past the summer solstice."

"You should know better than to bet against my mother’s boredom, Draco," Blaise replied, his fingers finally snagging on a loose thread and pulling it. "It’s the only consistent thing about her. She’s chased dozens of these 'soulmates' into early graves or expensive divorces, and for what? A few weeks of excitement? I’ve seen the bill for her delusions, and I have no intention of paying it myself. I have my gold, my estates, and my silence. I don’t need a soul mate bond to ruin a perfectly good life."

Draco chuckled, turning back to the robes. "Careful, Blaise. With how often you bring up not needing a soulmate, I am starting to think you desperately wish to meet yours."

Blaise snorted at that and turned away from the dress robes, glancing around the shop for anything worth his time. "I don’t want to meet my soulmate. I am very happy with how my life..."

His voice dropped off as his eyes landed on someone who had just walked into the shop.

His heart lurched as everything around him seemed to just stop existing for a moment. Then he felt it—the second heartbeat in his chest. His soulmate’s heartbeat. It was a heavy, rhythmic thrum that matched his own perfectly, a physical weight that made his lungs feel tight.

The person who had just walked into the shop was his soulmate. The one he had spent his life trying to convince himself he didn't want or need.

"Blaise, are you alright? You’ve gone pale," Draco’s voice was worried, his hand reaching out as if to steady him.

"I... I’m fine," Blaise said, his eyes never leaving you. He took a slow, grounding breath, the cynicism of the last twenty years evaporating instantly. He looked at Draco, his expression uncharacteristically raw. "You were right. About all of it. I finally understand why she couldn't stop looking. If she felt even a fraction of this... I don't think I could breathe if they walked out that door."

Without waiting for Draco to respond, Blaise straightened his coat. The boredom was gone, replaced by a sharp, intense clarity. He walked toward you, stopping just a few feet away. He didn't hover or loom; he simply stood there, his usual cold mask replaced by a look of absolute, unwavering interest.

"I was just telling my friend that I didn't believe in fated encounters," Blaise said, his voice smooth but possessing a new, rich depth as he reached out and gently caught your chin. "But it seems I’ve been made a liar within the span of a single minute. I’m Blaise Zabini... and I think you and I have a great deal to discuss."