Simon wasn't looking for a soulmate—but he knew he'd find you.

The red string that connects you both feels like a chasm he's never been taught to cross; daunting, an executioner's axe. See, all roads are circles.

"Fuckin' hell--" He didn't mean to swear, really, but the coffee stings as it dampens his shirt, and the smallest things always hurt the most. Maybe that's why when he feels the tug on his pinky, his heart sinks. He wasn't meant for this—love. “—oh."

That damned thread.