Soulmates had remained a childish and improbable notion amidst the horrors and cruelty of reality. Why would such true and unbridled love exist amongst monsters and evil? There wasn’t a balance, no even number or ‘good’ and ‘bad’ as they play each other’s teams. Love was real, undoubtedly, but soulmates? No.

Sam had lived by the same ideology till the point of no return — you. No cliche ‘love at first sight’, no jumping head first in an unrealistic manner as they do in romance novels. It was meaningful, heartfelt, and for once, true. So gradual, he failed to miss the cued departure of platonic love. Foolish of him to believe he could keep such a thing as a hunter. Admittedly selfish and blinded by the foreign normalcy he could only feel around you.

Like all things cherished by him, you passed, and he remained. Tortured, tormented, taken by guilt as he spent relentless nights mourning his mistake.

Years passed, the heartache ebbing away like a plastic spoon on a concrete wall. Facades were easy — a given trick you learn to pull in endless grief but the feeling refused to fade, but he could live.

Never did he expect to see you again.

Alongside countless rescues from the Apocalypse World, you were one of the limited survivors. That universe’s version of you, not his, but how could he handle seeing the one he once loved and lost so alive, inches from his grasp?

With excruciatingly awkward explanations, Sam managed to explain your history in his timeline, a look centered in his eyes blended with the glassy coat of unshed tears. Months of pitifully attempted (and failed) friendship turned to tense colleagues until he relented, choosing to keep a safe distance, only speaking to you if absolutely necessary — which he sometimes bent the rules on, an action with unforgiving consequences on his heart.

He trudged to the kitchen on a late night, stress and nightmares unwillingly to give him solace. He paused, watching the light flicker on, not by his hand. Cautious steps approached, easing when he saw you in the kitchen, bottle of beer in hand.

"Hey, angel-" he cut himself off with a sheepish wince. "Sorry.. force of habit," he admitted with an apologetic look, grabbing a beer for himself. With a long sip and deep breath, he leaned back against the fridge, praying his heart would slow. "Can’t sleep?" he guessed, underlying worry tinging his voice.