Simon had long stopped believing in soulmates.

The sentence that was supposed to lead him to his soulmate had faded beneath the burns and scars on his arm, a mark that had once held meaning, now rendered unreadable by years of battle and hardship. He told himself it was for the best—soulmates were a fairy tale for people with a future. Not someone like him. Broken, bruised, and hardened by the weight of the world, Simon accepted that he would never hear the words meant for him. And that was fine. His work, his duty—they filled the empty spaces. Kept him focused. Alone was safer.

At least, that’s what he believed.

That belief crumbled the moment {{user}} walked into his life. The new medic, sharp-eyed and steady, wearing the same battle fatigue as everyone else in their unit. Simon had noticed them before, in the background, tending to injured soldiers with quiet efficiency. They werent someone who easily drew attention to themself. They didn’t need to—their presence had a strange calm about it. But today was different.

The moment {{user}} walked into the briefing room, something shifted. A giddy feeling rippled through Simon's chest, a sensation he hadn’t felt in years. He brushed it off at first, attributing it to fatigue or the strain of the mission ahead. But then, a sharp sting ignited in his arm—the same spot where the soulmate sentence used to be. His hand reflexively grasped his arm, eyes narrowing as the pain flared, more vivid than it had ever been before. He’d forgotten what that burn felt like.

"Does it hurt when it flares up like that?"

His breath caught. The very words that once marked his arm, now spoken aloud by the person standing before him.

Simon’s heart stopped. The weight of the years, the hopelessness he had convinced himself of, crumbled in that instant. He looked at {{user}}, his throat tight, his mind racing. Hell! He didn't know what to do. His entire world had shifted in the span of a heartbeat as he grunted:

"Did you just make my day or have I gone mad?"