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IT STARTED LIKE everyone else's soulmate experience─the writing appeared one day, out of the blue, on the skin of your forearm like a tattoo. They were always quick to fade, the magical ink devoured by your body's immune system, but they lingered long enough for you to notice them.
And, weirdly enough, the first words your soulmate wrote to you were the words of a poem. Whoever they were, they wrote in an amazingly talented hand, the calligraphy putting your awful, cramped words to absolute shame.
'Infinite in mystery is the gift of the goddess,' they wrote on your arm that morning,'we seek it thus, and take to the skies.'
From then on, every day since then, you would be sure to find phrases of that poem written somewhere on your body. On your arms, forearms, hands, knees, legs, but the most common was always the inside of your wrist, written there as if it was some secret, some thrilling note that you could look at when no one was around.
You hated it.
Unlike the rest of the women in your office building, you despised that poem─and the play─with every fiber of your being. It was one thing to hear it every day at work, brought on by the cooing assistants who fawned over the main male leads of the play and lusted for their numbers. But to be hounded by it even as you relaxed at home, unable to forget those damned words because they appeared on your skin almost every hour on the dot?
It was ridiculous.
Your spite had extended to your replies to your soulmate, so much so that you never replied at all once your hatred took hold of you. It had been nearly two months since you had stopped, six months since they had started to begin with, and yet your soulmate soldiered on, leaving the little phrases for you to find─in obvious spots, none of them ever inappropriate─and going on with whatever they did for a living.
It had to have been something time and attention consuming, because the one time you wrote back, drunk during mid-day, you didn't get a reply until well after twelve in the morning. You had just wrote, pretty awfully,'Why Loveless?' and passed out on the couch, dead to the world.
You woke up right in the middle of the reply appearing on your skin as they wrote it, the curls of their handwriting fascinating as every whorl and slash bloomed upon your arm like wicked black flowers.
'Why not Loveless?' They had replied.
Needless to say, the irritation had rose up as you had expected it to, and you pulled a hoodie on for the rest of the night to hide your arms from your line of sight. If you would have pulled up your sleeve just a bit then, you would have caught the extended reply that they added on to it.
'I'm just joking. Why Loveless? Because it is a truth; it is deliverance. It is a meaning.'
Unfortunately for you, the ink had been devoured long ago and replaced with another Loveless stanza, this one a little bit longer than the others they had written for you… and not at all part of the official poem.
'Even if the morrow is barren of promises
Nothing shall forestall my return
To become the dew that quenches the land
To spare the sands, the seas, the skies
I offer thee this silent sacrifice.'
It was then, staring at your arm as you stood in front of your office copier, the glow of the mako reactor shining upon your skin, that you realized this poem was much more than a means to annoy you. This was their passion, their joy, their hobby, all wrapped into one poem.
You made a decision then.
You booked the tickets, the priciest seats you could afford, rented out a modest but elegant dress for the evening, and made a reservation at a nice restaurant just across the street from the theater, even more pricey than the tickets.
'Theater #2, front steps, 8:30 P.M. Dress nice. Don't be late.'
That reply had been instantaneous.
'I wouldn't dream of it.'
The date set and your dress hanging comfortably in your closet, you began wondering what your soulmate looked like. Could you pick them out of a crowd? Or were they plain and unassuming, able to blend in easily, like camouflage?
You asked them, just to be sure.
'What do you look like?'
'Let's leave that as a mystery. I'm sure I'll be able to find you.'
Stumped, you stared at your arm with wide eyes, before scratching through your question and doodling a smiley face with the tongue sticking out of the side.
'Not if I find you first.'
'I look forward to the challenge.'
By the time the date rolled around and you were dressed and waiting by the steps of the theater, you were so nervous you could throw up. You were a little early and tried to settle your nerves with a small can of soda, but all that succeeded in doing was making the butterflies worse. You were lucky they had even agreed to the meeting in the first place; some people just never got that chance. And that didn't guarantee you would even get along, did it?
After a few minutes of failing to calm yourself down, you got on your phone and scrolled through the new ShinRa announcements, eager to take your mind off of the wrecking ball going off in your stomach. It only helped a little bit.
And then, something odd happened; like the proverbial red sea, people parted for someone walking through the crowd at a leisurely pace, except the 'red' was a man, and not a sea at all. Just from your distance, he was gorgeous, with russet red hair and mako green eyes that sparkled under the fluorescent lights.
Whoever got him as a soulmate had earned the jackpot, you thought wordlessly to yourself, watching as the crowd continued to part for him. Really, really lucky.
Then you realized, belatedly, like a sucker punch to the gut, that he was headed your way, those insanely green eyes trained on you with the focus of a predator. It was suddenly very hard to breathe, your lungs constricting at the disbelief in your mind, your phone very heavy in your hand.
There was no absolute way in hell--
"I told you I'd find you," he said with a smooth grin. His voice was like honey, rich and smooth with all of the right cadence, and sat right in your stomach like molten gold. You swore if you weren't so awe struck that you would have teetered back and fainted right then and there. "I win."
"I guess so," you replied faintly, barely a whisper. He seemed to acknowledge the effect he had on you because his eyes crinkled up just the slightest with a smirk that made you want to, quite literally, rip off that red leather jacket he wore and show him who was boss. "I'm [Name]."
"Genesis." You watched the emerald earring he had in his ear dangle and catch the lights, adding to his features spectacularly. "Are you ready to go inside?"
You had to stop yourself from sounding too eager. Your plans had went from having a nice time at a play, to dinner, and parting your separate ways and straight to watching a play, having dinner, and hopefully taking him back home with you if he was willing. "Yes, please."
Genesis smiled and tucked your hand into his elbow, like a gentleman--you could feel your face growing as hot as coals--and escorted you up the stairs, careful not to let you trip and fall. As you walked with him to the stands to give the doorman your tickets, you noticed that he didn't exactly walk with the awkwardness of a normal person. His gait was smooth, fluid, elegant and refined, as if someone had drilled him to always be light on his feet. Add that to the sword you could feel at his side and the beautiful green eyes, and you knew you had a SOLDIER for a soulmate.
"You're a SOLDIER?" You asked quietly as you entered the quiet zone of the play stage.
He chuckled lightly. "What gave it away?"
"Let's see… Other than the sword and the way you carry yourself?" You teased, stomach jolting when he moved his hand to the small of your back to urge you towards your seat. "Your eyes. I've never seen such a concentrated color before."
"Yes, the tell tale sign of mako energy," he lamented, if only to earn a laugh out of you. "But yes, I am a First Class SOLDIER."
Your head turned so quickly that you were sure your neck would have snapped. "First Class? And you're here with me, not on some elite mission?"
"Of course." He blinked, tilted his head, and furrowed his eyebrows as if he was the one who should be confused. "Why would I turn down the chance to see Loveless with a goddess such as yourself?"
Oh, you felt the heat now, curling down your spine like a snake and he the charmer. It should have been cheesy, given the situation and his love for a poem mentioning such a goddess, but for some reason, it wasn't, and it made goofy feelings rise in your chest, along with understanding.
It was more than just a poem.
He grinned when you brought your pamphlet up to fan yourself, leaning back in your chair and mumbling,"Let's just watch the play, okay?"
Genesis was, thankfully, tame during the entire thing. He was just as absorbed into it as you were, those pretty green eyes taking in the play actors with relish, and absentmindedly stroking his leather clad thumb over your knuckles as if it was natural to him.
When the play was over, the actors gave out cute silk flowers as a souvenir, thanking everyone for their attendance and citing their next performance as sometime next week.
Dinner, you came to find out, was fair game for Genesis.
Not only did he pull some strings behind your back to pay for it himself, he also switched your reserved table to the most secluded one in the entire building: the Elite floor where only people like Rufus Shinra dined and held their meetings and drank fine wine.
There were only three other tables on the floor, each one hosting a couple, and the room was dark, barely lit by glowing red lanterns as a centerpiece. Clearly it was a popular spot to be wooed.
You caught envious stares from the waitresses, a few offering you winks and a thumb's up, as you made your way up the stairs, Genesis behind you and making sure you didn't fall. You half guessed he was also in it for the view as well.
When you were seated and left to order your food, Genesis spoke up.
"So, you know what I do for a living, but you have yet to tell me anything about yourself." He propped open his menu and looked over it to you.
"Well… There isn't much to say." You shrugged and focused on trying to undo the straps of your heels with your feet, feeling your toes ache with the added height. "I'm a bit boring compared to you."
"I digress," he hummed,"but go on."
"I work in an office building for twelve hours a day," you deadpanned, much to his amusement. "It's boring."
"Allow me."
Confused, you opened your mouth to ask what he meant, but all of the breath left your lungs once again when his fingers wrapped around your ankle and unbuckled the straps to your heels with nimble fingers. He took his time, sliding his palm up your leg to take a hold of your calf as he removed the shoe from your foot.
Relieved from the pressure of your shoes, you let out a pleased sigh, but when you looked back across the table at him, those green eyes were glittering dangerously, trained on your face for a solitary second before getting to work on the other shoe.
You couldn't help the sudden heat rising in your belly. That look alone had made you tingle.
Before he could open his mouth and say something that would probably make you forego dinner plans entirely and drag him back to your house, the waitress came back, sheepish, and took your orders.
When you finished ordering--a salmon filet drizzled with soy sauce and wine--Genesis was busy studying you, watching you toy with the strap of your dress nervously.
Unfortunately, he never did make any more moves on you for the rest of dinner, but your stomach was glad for that because every time he looked at you even slightly, you would feel food get lodged in your throat.
You spoke well into the morning hours, getting tipsy enough that Genesis had to carry you all the way back to your apartment because the cabs weren't running that late. He was amused, if anything, and laughed whenever tried to come on to him, slurring sweet promises in his ear.
Every time, he would say,"Perhaps later when you're not so drunk."
"If not now, when?" You whined pathetically, leaning against your door as he picked the lock, unwilling to take the plunge down your bra to retrieve the keys.
"Soon," he said, his voice full of dark promise, enough that your alcohol addled mind could make out the desire in his voice like an arrow to the heart. "Soon."
He left you with just that promise, vanishing down the hall and into the night.
You remembered the look on his face, the tone of his voice, even when you woke up, and took maybe five seconds before you were yanking a pen out of your nightstand and writing on your arm.
'Now?"
A few seconds passed, then three minutes. And there it was, written in his elegant penmanship: your answer.
'3:40 P.M. Don't be late.'