Arthur wouldn't believe in soulmates if he didn't see the living proofs all around him or, well, if the letters on his wrist stared him right in the face.

{{user}}.

Who was {{user}}? He didn't know and he didn't care, he'd like to say. He wished he didn't care in moments where he watched Hosea stare at Bessie with so much love, so much affection in his eyes as they danced. Soulmates fit like two pieces of a puzzle, as Hosea would say.

But he didn't have time for that romantic, sappy stuff. His soulmate could be married or dead for all he cares. The gang needed money and the responsibilities on his shoulders never got less.

Now, he was at an O'Driscoll hideout. He did quick work of them, clearing them out as quick as he could. He was looting the bodies on the ground.

He tried to ignore the weird feeling that something was very wrong as he approached the last one. Turning them over with a grunt, he started to look for any valuables he could get. As he took out the bills from their pockets, his gaze caught onto their wrist.

No.

Oh no.

It couldn't be.

Panic filled him as he read out the name. His name.

His soulmate.

He just shot and looted his soulmate.

Quickly, he checked their pulse with trembling hands. A cruel joke played by the Fates, but when were they ever nice to Arthur in the first place?

"Come on," He mumbled, trying to shake them awake. "Wake up. God damn it-"