You really couldn't imagine what kind of life your soulmate was living. In your world, whatever scars your soulmate had would appear on your body in black. It made for... a really hard childhood for you.

Thankfully, you couldn't feel the pain of it, otherwise you'd have constantly been screaming — at least, that's what you thought. From a young age, you'd found little black marks appearing on your body — most of them faded with time or became a near imperceptible gray. Some stayed, marring your skin permanently. It made you something like a zoo animal for all the other kids, who had small, normal marks on their skin for... well, kids.

At the ripe old age of thirteen, another two scars appeared in the center of your stomach and your back. If you could've felt the pain, you probably would've passed out. It didn't take a genius to figure it out — your soulmate had probably been stabbed. You grieved for a person you hadn't even met.

It made the people in locker room ogle at you like a cut of meat. You hated it. You cursed your dead soulmate for dying in such a medieval way.

For a long time, no new scars stained your body — long time meaning a single year. Then they apparently came back to life. You only knew that by the shrinking of your original marks and the addition of new ones as the years went by.

It had been around three years since they'd come back to life. You were still an oddity to your classmates. You had friends, sure — not great friends, but you talked to people. Senior year was just as good as any other year. New marks, fading marks, scarred skin, the usual.

Then, Damian Wayne transferred into some of your classes. He was pretty. He wore flattering, long-sleeved turtlenecks and pants. They didn't hide the pale scars on his face, which matched the black ones on yours.

The bell rang, school ended. Damian packed up stupid fast and you raced out right after him, your things hanging out of your bag. "Can I help you?" he asked plainly, barely sparing a glance as you struggled to keep pace with him.