Archive of Our Own

The first thing Grian remembers is standing in kindergarten and wondering why there were so many strings. All varieties of colours, lengths, widths.

Two of his classmates had a single, red string between them, tied around their wrists as they played in the sandbox together. He doesn’t remember their names, but he remembers one of them, a young girl, talking non-stop and waving her hands around, sand flying everywhere, and even when sand flew into the other girl’s eyes she continued to listen, enraptured by her story about the dinosaur she’d seen at the weekend.

And he distinctly remembers realising everyone had a string around their wrist.

And none of them could see it.

When his mother died, he remembers tugging at his father’s sleeve, remembers him snapping at him, and remembers asking, “Why is your string on the floor now?” That night, his father had looked at him like he had no clue who he was, as if he wasn’t the son he’d raised.

So Grian never brought it up again.

Over the years he learned things about these strings, about what they meant. They were connections between people, fate bringing them together slowly but surely, and all for different reasons. Red was for romantic love, someone you’re destined to fall in love with; pink was for strong platonic love, someone you’re destined to forever understand; black was for people you are destined to never understand.

Most people only have one string, and Grian has met only a few with all three— he was sure he could count them on one hand— name them if he really tried.

And he could name the one person who had never had any string in the first place.

It was never something he dwelled too much on, and over the years, when he realised the complications that came with soul strings, he was almost thankful for it. Thankful because it gave him time to do other things.

Soul strings were only ever mentioned in ancient texts, texts that Grian had read front to back over and over again until he had every word memorised. Many people in the modern world didn’t believe in them, nor soulmates, the term often being used offhandedly. Numerous times, people had spoken to Grian with their partner beside them, told him they were the love of their life, their soulmate.

And yet there would be a red string leading elsewhere— and, on the odd occasion, a black string between them.

It was these events, and other related ones, that led Grian to where he was today. Sat in his office with a woman across from him, a woman who had heard about his match-making skills and was looking for love. Sometimes he had to turn people away, due to a lack of a red string or that familiar sight of a cut tie, but most of the time he found a way to help people.

This woman in front of him had two ties around her wrist, one red and one pink, and they were intertwined, twirling around each other. It was a sight that always managed to put a smile on Grian’s face, no matter how bad of a day he’d had.

“So,” Grian started, recounting what she’d told him and glancing at his paper of notes, half of them just being random doodles of things around his office, “You want me to help you find your soulmate?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re willing to travel?” Grian double checked, looking at how taut her string was being pulled and wincing at the flight costs. The tautness of a soul string could tell him just how far a person was, and he’d always been quite proud of his accuracy. The only issues that occurred was when someone decided to go on holiday or something, and their location changed. “Remember I can’t give you their name, simply because I don’t have that information. You’ll have to look for them with what I can give.”

Which consisted of only theory.

Seeing so many different people and dynamics across his lifetime, he could tell what kinds of people the soul typically bonded to depending on personality and morality— sometimes he was even able to narrow down their physical features, which helped immensely, especially in the case of longer journeys.

“It’s worked for people in the past, right?” She asked, more of an agreement than a checking of the fact. Either way, Grian nodded with a shrug, so she nodded back, determination sweeping her features. “Then I’ll try.”

The lady in front of him wasn’t young, as much as she looked it. She told Grian she’d spent her life waiting for that special person to arrive, and that they simply never did. Of course, with the way soulmates work, they were bound to meet eventually, but people get tired of waiting.

Sometimes people would meet and one of them would die five minutes later.

Grian’s work helped to extend that by a few years in some cases.

“Well, what I can tell you is that your soulmate is probably around 4,500 miles east,” Grian explained, ripping off a fresh piece of paper from his book and scribbling the most exact location he could on it, “You’re probably looking for someone extremely generous, constantly giving what they know they can’t and managing anyway. They’re quite extraverted and will be known by everyone around, but despite their outgoingness they’ll be reserved, live alone, not have many extremely close connections.” Grian explained, trying to wrack his brain for anything else more specific.

He looked her up and down, at her rapt features, her wavy, long blonde hair, sharp jawline, extravagant clothing.

It didn’t tell him much, in all honesty.

But these things usually never did.

“Those are the things I can say without being incorrect,” Grian told her, leaning back in his chair as she nodded to herself, looking at the paper she’d been given, “If I think of anything else I’ll drop you a message. If you believe you’ve found them, video call me and I’ll confirm it.”

“Right, yeah,” she replied, nodding to herself, but there was something a little faraway in her eyes as she looked at the paper in front of her, then back up at Grian. “How do you know these things?”

To say she would be the first person to ask would be a lie. Most people did, curiosity being an innate human thing, but it wasn’t information he handed out freely. He’d be called a liar, crazy, sent to some insane asylum that, frankly, he didn’t think he needed to go to.

He just happened to be born with a sixth sense others weren’t.

“I just have a penchant for these sorts of things,” is what he said, and they both knew he was lying, both knew he wouldn’t say the true reason.

So she nodded again and stood, folding the paper and tucking it into her bag.

“Thank you, Mr Emcee.” She said as Grian stood, moving around his desk to walk her out, smiling that polite smile he always did during his appointments.

“My pleasure, I hope it works out for you.”

They only exchanged goodbyes once they were in the small waiting room of his office, the woman giving him a small wave as she left, leaving Grian to heave a breath, to remind himself he only had one appointment left and then he could go home.

One appointment, who was sitting in the waiting room, book in hand on the first page as they held it up right to their face. Grian recognised it as one of the ones from the coffee table, smiling to himself smally. “Mr Goodtimes?” He called, hearing the man yelp as he jumped, the book almost falling out of his hands as he looked up, frazzled eyes meeting Grian’s.

The moment their eyes met, Grian was confused.

He could only see soul strings once he made eye contact with one end of the string, meaning he never truly knew who was soul bonded and how, unless he’d met their counterpart prior to them meeting.

Mr Goodtimes’ soul string was one of a kind.

Wrapped around his wrist was a single, bright red string, but instead of it leading to someone somewhere, it fell to the ground and was tied in a neat little bow at the end.

As if waiting to be tied.

At first, Grian wondered if it was because the person simply didn’t exist yet, but the man didn’t look young enough, and usually that just meant the string couldn’t exist at all.

It was more like something was blocking the string from connecting to its counterpart.

“Ah, that’s me!” The man replied as he stood, settling the book on the coffee table and picking up the walking stick beside the chair with an awkward laugh, Grian unable to laugh back, eyes stuck on the string, on the bow. The man then walked over, the action reminding Grian that he also had to move.

But what would he even say once they sat down?

Sorry but there is literally no one like you in the world, there is nothing I can do to help you.

That sounded too harsh.

He walked them to his office instead, telling the man he could sit anywhere, that there were fidgets if he needed to keep his hands occupied, a pencil and paper if he preferred to doodle whilst he talked, extra cushions if he wanted them. Mr Goodtimes simply picked up a fidget and sat in the chair across from Grian’s, not exactly falling into it but doing something quite the opposite—sitting up straight and rigid, as if he felt like he didn’t have a right to be sat there.

The moment Grian sat down, routine took over.

“My name is Grian Emcee, you can call me whatever you’d feel most comfortable with, I use he/him pronouns.” He recited, more than happy to watch the man’s shoulders drop, a small smile finally reaching his face for the first time since they’d met. The walking stick was set down to rest against Grian’s desk, the man letting out a breath before speaking.

“You can call me Scar, uh, he/him,” he started, voice like honey, and Grian immediately found himself picking up the pencil, writing it down at the top of the page.

“Alright Scar,” Grian started, taking a deep breath of his own, “How can I help you today?”

“Well,” he started, the man more nervous once again, hands occupied with the fidget as he avoided Grian’s eyes, “You deal with soulmates, don’t you?” At that, Grian nodded, already building himself up to breaking the news to him. Scar nodded back, as if glad of the confirmation, before saying, “How do you do with cutting soulmate bonds?”

Grian froze.

“I…” Grian started, brows furrowing as he leaned forward in his chair, Scar finally meeting his eyes again, worry twinkling in them. “I don’t understand the question.”

“You help people find their soulmates, right?” Scar asked, arm raising and his tied string following him, Grian’s eyes subconsciously following it. “Well I want you to make sure I never meet mine. I don’t want to.”

“You don’t want to meet your soulmate?” That he definitely, totally had.

Yeah, Grian was sure he’d have no problem with this one.

“I’ve always hated the idea that fate decides who I love,” Scar groaned, leaning back into his chair with a frown, looking down at the plastic dragon in his hands, meeting its eyes as if hoping it would hold the secrets of the universe, “That’s not how love works. You build it, you know? I don’t think one person is suited perfectly to someone else.”

Considering every single soul string Grian had ever seen, he had to disagree.

But looking at Scar’s string had him stumped.

“Uh, Grian?”

“The only way I can put this,” Grian started at the prompt, linking his hands together in front of himself with as neutral of a face as he could manage, Scar looking right back at him with something like hope in those emerald eyes of his. “Is that I have never seen a bond like yours before.”

With that, Scar’s brows furrowed, frowning. “What’s that meant to mean? You won’t cut it because it’s special?”

“No,” Grian huffed, resting his chin in his palm as he smiled, kicking his legs under the desk, “I won’t cut it because I don’t need to. It’s only connected to you.” Grian explained, looking back at the string around his wrist, at how it just fell to the floor, limp.

Limp, but not dead.

“Come again?”

For this appointment, Grian had no choice but to say more than usual. He would try his best to keep as much to himself as possible, but it’s difficult to explain everyone is tied to at least one person and when someone dies the line goes grey but yours isn’t grey for some strange reason I have yet to figure out, I have never seen it before and it’s stumped me completely without at least delving into the mechanics a tad.

So, he said, “Everyone is connected to someone, whether that’s through romantic love, platonic love, or to be someone’s mortal enemy. Some people have all three bonds, you only have one, romantic love, like most people,” Grian explained, lifting a finger as Scar slowly nodded, a simple show that he’s following. “However, unlike most people—or, well, all people—your bond doesn’t have another end. Usually it’s because the other person has passed away, but yours hasn’t, it simply… hasn’t decided on someone yet.”

“… right.”

“Have you made any significant moral changes recently?” Grian tried, tilting his head in confusion, Scar looking equally as confused.

“No? Always been pretty set in them.”

“Have you ever fallen in love before and it’s ended on a misunderstanding that you can’t get over?”

“Never fallen in love.” Scar replied simply, and Grian just hummed, looking at his paper, at Scar’s wrist, at both of his own.

His own empty wrists.

Until now, he was the only anomaly he’d ever known. Everything else—everyone else—made sense, everyone but him.

And now he wasn’t alone.

“So you’re telling me that I might actually be able to choose who I love?”

“Well, you might have to try and beat fate to it,” Grian scoffed, shrugging, “Or maybe not. This would be easier if I’d known you your whole life, because I’d be able to see if this was a new anomaly or if it’s always been like this.”

“So…” Scar continued, looking back at the fidget in his hands, “There’s nothing you can do? To help?”

“There’s nothing I need to do,” Grian huffed, eyes trained to that string once again, entirely amazed now that the shock was over, “I can promise to cut it if I ever see you again and it’s connected to someone— but I don’t have much practice with that. Most people want to meet their soulmates.”

“What about you?”

The question shouldn’t have surprised him. Maybe it was because he’d never actually been asked it before, or maybe it was because it was this specific man asking, but Grian felt himself blush a little with embarrassment.

It wasn’t a topic he typically breached.

“Hm?” He asked, feigning innocence, but Scar just smiled and leaned forward, grinning.

“You do this whole gig, surely you want to meet your soulmate— or wanted to.”

“I—“ Grian started, wondering why the words were on the tip of his tongue, wondering why he wanted to breach the topic. Whenever the topic of soulmates came up in regular conversation, he kept his lips tied tightly shut, not wanting to give anything away.

But Scar blinked at him, eyes owlish and innocently intrigued, and Grian wanted to tell him.

“I don’t have one.” He said, because he could, because he wanted to, subconsciously rubbing his wrist as Scar’s eyes went wide.

“Seriously? Not even an enemy?”

“I’m the only person I’ve ever known to not have a bond,” Grian confirmed, and Scar only seemed amazed by this, gaping with a small smile tugging at his lips. His countenance was a lot different to how it had been prior, something easier, as if a huge weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. “Now, that makes two of us.”

“Do you ever wish you had one?” Scar asked, and Grian couldn’t help but think it an odd question from Mr. I've always hated the idea that fate decides who I love. But it was a question he had an answer to.

“I don’t think I ever got the chance to wish for one, I accepted my own fate before I got to wonder what another would be like.”

Grian glanced at the time then, belatedly realising it was almost the end of his work day. Of course he was his own boss, and could dictate what hours he worked, but he chose the hours he did for good reason, and he always preferred sticking to his routine than moving away from it.

So, as a means of wrapping up the session, he asked, “Is there anything I can do for you, then?”

“Huh?”

“You said you want to fall in love without the help of fate,” Grian explored, waving his hands around aimlessly, “Maybe we can whittle down your type, get you on some dating apps or something. Or I can help you find people with only platonic or negative bonds for you to try to connect with.”

For a moment, Scar sat there and stared at Grian.

It was a long moment, too long, and it gave Grian too much time to think, to look, to study.

To study Scar’s tidily messy dark brown hair, his sparkling green eyes, his tanned skin. There was a flurry of scars across his skin, some darker than his skin tone and others lighter, curving around the defined muscles on his arms.

Yeah, too long of a moment.

Grian had to stay professional. He couldn’t ogle his clients, even if this specific one was practically encouraging it with how he looked Grian up and down himself, flexed, smirked.

Or maybe he was imagining it and he needed to get a grip.

Not that he’d had many issues with it before then.

“Well, you could keep an eye on it for me maybe?” Scar eventually said, breaking the silence Grian had been trying to hide from, even if his words only managed to disorientate him more. “If I keep booking appointments, you can tell when I bond to someone and break it for me, can’t you?”

Breaking bonds wasn’t something he enjoyed doing.

He did it once for a woman whose soulmate had been convinced to try drugs and got addicted, she said that he was never the same and she’d never be able to see him the same again, that she didn’t want to be pulled towards him for the rest of their existence. So Grian had cut the tie.

It felt like ripping a piece of the Universe away.

He hadn’t been able to go to work for two weeks, stuck in his bed, left with this hollow feeling in his chest.

But if that was what Scar inevitably wanted, he was the only person who could give that to him.

So he nodded.

And Scar smiled.

And, Grian realised, that would have to be enough.

“Great, so uh, can I book in to see you next week?” Scar asked, the question making Grian pull out his calendar, finding that he was free at that time the week after. And the week after that.

Despite being fully booked for every other time of every other day.

Weird.

“How about we do this time every week?” Grian offered, already writing the man’s name in before he nodded, clearly more than happy with this arrangement judging by the smile Grian could see in his periphery. “That way we’ll keep an eye on the situation and we can see what I can do to help you otherwise.”

“Thank you, Grian. Truly.” Scar told him, standing from his chair and placing the fidget down on the desk, holding a hand out.

A hand that Grian took with little hesitation, feeling a warm palm on his own, his skin callused but smooth still, a little larger than his own.

He shouldn’t be thinking about that.

“Happy to help, Scar.”

He had some research to do.

☆

Name: Scar Goodtimes (he/him)

Age: 39

Description: Tall, confident once  relaxed, strong moral compass, honest, well-meaning, curious, restless.

Ideal partner: Helpful, patient, organised, calming.

Repeat client: Friday 5:30pm.

☆

In all honesty, he should’ve expected Mumbo to find him. That man was only ever in two places—his lab, or the library.

And Grian had gone to the library.

He’d taken the day off of work to look through all the books he could find—he even asked the archivist if they had any information on the books he couldn’t access.

But it was just all the same drivel.

“Whatcha doin?” Mumbo asked as he leaned over his shoulder, Grian having to hold in his yelp with a hand over his mouth, glaring at his friend over it and watching his features melt into something guilty, the man wincing. “Sorry Grian, I forgot you’re easily startled.”

“You’re the one who silently crept up on me!” Grian whisper-shouted, Mumbo just quietly laughing back before sitting down, a tech book being placed on the table in front of him.

“What are you doing here?” Mumbo asked, looking at the dozens of open books over the table, reading the words with furrowed brows. “Haven’t you already read all of these?”

“About ten times each, yes.”

“So… why an eleventh time?”

Grian groaned, snapping another book closed as he leaned back in his chair, hands running down his face. “Because I’ve missed something somewhere. I have to have missed something.”

“Why don’t you try talking me through it,” Mumbo suggested, turning to properly face him with his hands clasped in his lap, already a rapt audience, “I’m sure you already have the answer in that big noggin of yours.”

Mumbo was one of Grian’s best friends; he was one of the first people Grian let himself get close to, one of the first he told about soulmates. He probably knew more about it than anyone else, even if Grian hadn’t told him about the strings. Because, as much as Mumbo would believe him, no one would believe Mumbo and they’d seem like two clinically insane people.

“Okay, so I had this client come in a few days ago, and he had an unfinished bond.”

“An unfinished bond?”

“It was alive, wasn’t cut— in fact, he came in to ask me to cut it. But it just… hasn’t found someone to bond to yet.”

“That is weird.” Mumbo grumbled, tapping his linked fists on his legs. “And you’ve never seen this before?”

“No,” Grian affirmed, motioning to the books splayed in front of him, “And neither has anyone else.”

“So, what do you think it could be?”

“A reflection of his feelings, like every soul bond is,” Grian replied, but he knew he didn’t sound so sure as he said it, “He said he doesn’t want fate to choose, that he wants to learn to love someone himself, but many people do that. Where’s their half-finished string?”

“String?”

“… turn of phrase.”

“Right.” Mumbo huffed, tone not entirely agreeable but he was evidently willing to let it go. “But it’s a good point. So could something be stopping it maybe?”

“I don’t know.” Grian sighed, and it was the same answer he’d left their last appointment with.

He didn’t know anything. He didn’t know what caused it, how to deal with it, whether he could just cut such a phenomenon from existence.

Whether he even had the right to do so.

“What do I do Mumbo?”

“What you’ve always done,” Mumbo replied immediately, opening his own book with a shrug and turning back around, legs now rucked under the table as he sniffed, “Help as best as you know how.”

That was all he could do.

Plus, Mumbo was always right.

So, with a sigh, Grian started gathering all the books to head home.

If trusting himself was all he had, then that’s what he had to do.

At least if something went wrong now he could blame Mumbo.

☆

After a month of meeting up with Scar, Grian found himself looking forward to it.

Every Friday he steps out into the lobby, calls his name, and they don’t stop talking till he leaves. A quick check of his soul string tells Grian that nothing has changed, and after that it’s free reign. Sometimes Grian tried to get work done, to try and gauge what Scar’s type was, to convince him to try and talk to people during the week, but they usually just… talked.

About Scar’s friends, about his work, about his cat Jellie, about Star Wars and Disneyland. And sometimes he managed to get Grian to talk about himself.

Like that day.

It was their fourth meeting, and until then Grian had managed to keep his own life completely private.

Key phrase, until then.

“Do you see your family often?” Scar prodded, feigning innocence as he said it, as if neither of them knew what Grian had been doing for the last two weeks.

And of course he had to start with that.

“I visit my dad sometimes, but only around Christmas and his birthday,” Grian said, deciding to leave it at that, “I don’t have as big of a family as you. Did you say you had two siblings?”

“Yeah, I’m the oldest, Jimmy’s the youngest, and Lizzie’s the middle child,” Scar replied, his smile brighter than the sun setting outside the window, bathing him in a golden glow as he spoke animatedly. Grian had found he enjoyed watching Scar talk, especially when it was something he was excited about—his arms would fly all over the place, his smile would brighten twicefold, and his eyes would sparkle with some unspoken joy.

It only made his own smile soften, leaning a little further into his palm as Scar continued.

“We’re all foster kids though, and we keep contact with our foster family. They never adopted us, but we’re all thankful for what they did for us, you know?” Grian didn’t know, but he nodded anyway, knowing Scar would keep talking, knowing he wanted him to.

Which gave him pause.

Dangerous territory, this was.

He gave the soul string another look, at how it trailed along the ground, at the tie on the end.

It looked looser than before, somehow, and the string looked longer, as if it had grown during the week.

Or maybe it had grown before but the difference wasn’t substantial enough to notice.

It was still the same shade of red, still perfectly tied around Scar’s wrist, but it was different.

It was changing.

And why, Grian had no clue.

“Everything okay G?”

“Hm?” Grian asked as he left his stupor, blinking back to the real world as Scar leaned a little closer, eyes flicking all over his face. “Yeah, fine, it’s just— your soul s— bond.”

That made Scar freeze, looking around himself as if he’d be able to find it, immediately worried. “Is everything okay? Has it attached to someone? Is it gone?”

“No—“ Grian huffed, unable to stop his smile returning at the man’s frenzy, only smiling wider when he looked back at him, eyes wide. “No, it’s just— changing a little. I only just noticed.”

“Changing?” Scar asked, frowning as he leaned forward a tad more, “Changing how?”

There was only one way to say it.

Soulmates are bound by strings of varying colours, yours is tied with a neat little bow. Well, guess what buddy, the bow is undoing itself.

No, he’d sound insane.

“Grian?”

Okay, now that concern was real, what could he say, what could he say—

“Is it alright? What’s wrong with it? Should I be worried?”

“Okay, don’t call me crazy,” Grian finally started, hating the speed his heart was going, his father’s voice so very loud in his head. “I’ve never told anyone this before, okay— well, I did once, and they did call me crazy.”

“I won’t call you crazy.” Scar replied, entirely genuine, and Grian huffed, trying his best to calm himself down, taking a moment to breathe, to steady his shaking hands a little where they were gripping his pencil and paper, haphazard doodles across the pages of lilacs and poppies.

“Okay,” Grian replied, nodding and placing the items down, hands still shaking in his lap. “God I can’t believe I’m telling you this— basically, souls are bonded via strings,” Grian explained, standing and moving around the table, reaching out to very carefully take hold of Scar’s soul string, watching it light up under his touch. The moment he did so, Scar shivered, gaping up at him. “Strings can be differentiated by colour and such— I can tell how far someone is by the tension on it.”

“And mine?” Scar asked, looking down at Grian’s hands, at the string he couldn’t see. “How did you know mine was endless?”

“Because the end is right here,” Grian told him, crouching and lifting the end with gentle fingers, Scar shivering again, “It’s tied, a little like you’d tie your shoe laces.”

“So what’s changed?”

Grian carefully looked at the tie, at the growing gap between itself, at the length. Before, if Scar had raised his arm, it would’ve come completely off of the floor and gone up to his waist.

Now it was hardly off of the floor, mid-calf at most.

It was a wonder he hadn’t spotted it.

But, despite his lack of knowledge in the area, Grian could determine one thing.

The string seemed to be preparing to attach to someone. The moment it unravelled, the moment the tie was undone, the string would have free-reign and go to where it had been waiting to.

Why it had waited until now, he wasn’t sure, but it was definitely something worth noting.

“I… can feel it.”

Grian looked up at that, furrowing his brows. “You can?”

Scar nodded, looking back down at Grian’s hands. “I can’t see it, but it feels like something warm just wrapped around my core.”

Grian looked at the string, then back at Scar, then back at the string.

Then he gently placed it back on the ground.

Any relief that sat in Scar’s shoulders disappeared, replaced with a familiar tension Grian hadn’t even noticed till then.

“Weird.”

“Weird indeed.” Scar whispered, but Grian hardly heard it through his rapid thoughts.

It was jumping to too many conclusions too fast too soon. He needed to eliminate possibilities before even considering anything else. Additionally, with Scar being such a special case, it’s difficult to say whether it was actually caused by something even after the eliminations. Grian had no basis to go off of, no example, nothing.

Just Scar, the texts, and his gut.

“Our time is up today, I’m afraid.”

“Ah, a shame,” Scar sighed, standing as Grian walked them both out, hands tucked into his pockets as he bit his lip, clearly considering something.

Then, just as they got to the doorway, Scar turned, an unsure and almost nervous smile on his face that had Grian’s own heart racing.

Not with his clients, not during work hours.

“I’ll see you next week?”

As always, Grian’s schedule was full apart from that single slot.

And, as always, Grian nodded.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Scar happier.

☆

Name: Scar Goodtimes (he/him)

Age: 39

Description: Tall, confident once  relaxed , strong moral compass, honest, well-meaning, curious, restless, excitable, loving, tense, bright smile, emerald eyes, hopeful.

Ideal partner: Helpful, patient, organised, calming, intelligent, resilient, cautious, creative, finds joy in the little things, observant.

Repeat client: Friday 5:30pm.

☆

Lunch had been going fine. It had, truly, Grian just couldn’t get Scar off his mind.

And the others had started noticing.

It was Gem that brought it up first. “Hey, Grian?”

“Hm?” He’d replied, still looking off into space as he sipped his coke through a straw, plate only half empty despite the fact they’d had it for almost half an hour. It was probably cold by then, not that he really minded.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” She asked, sipping her own drink as Grian was finally pulled out of his daze, blinking her into focus. Pearl was sitting beside her, pretending not to care despite the fact her gaze kept falling on him, and Mumbo was just blatantly staring at him, giving him the impression that the two had decided it would be better Gem pull him out of whatever world he was in.

He just couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not only about the confusion around the string, around the unravelling and Scar feeling it, being relieved by someone being on the other end of it, but also just Scar himself. His laugh was on constant replay in his mind, his smile glistening behind his eyelids whenever he looked at the sun, and Grian would be lying to say he wanted it to stop. He knew he should, knew Scar was his client, that he was working with him to find the solution to all this soulmate stuff, that it was entirely unprofessional to have even the smallest crush on the guy, but…

I’ll see you next week?

How could he not?

He was handsome, and kind, and funny. Everything he said sounded so interesting for the pure fact he was always excited about it. The end of the week had become his favourite part, and instead of the relief coming from leaving work it was walking into that waiting room for the last time that day and seeing that face, smiling at him like he was the only thing in the world.

And Grian, like the idiot he was, kept turning to him, like a sunflower to its sun.

“And we lost him again.”

“Huh? Oh, sorry, what were you saying?”

“That you’ve been acting off for the past couple weeks,” Gem said as if she’d said it already, and Grian risked a look at Mumbo, a telling look that told him exactly why Grian was spacing out. Pearl noticed it, perking up and looking to Mumbo for information. “Is everything okay? You’re not dying, are you?”

It certainly felt like it.

He’d lived his whole life in the belief that he would never have what others do, that it simply wasn’t something he was capable of.

Then stupid Scar Goodtimes comes along and blows that whole world view up.

“No, no I’m not dying,” Grian replied, and he didn’t mean to sound so upset by it, sipping his drink with a shrug, “Just… work stuff.”

“Work stuff… has you smiling?” Pearl huffed, and Grian just gaped, Gem giggling under her breath.

“Wait— is this about that new guy? The weird soul bond one?”

Grian didn’t even have to reply for Mumbo to know he was right, instead just taking a bite of his cold toastie, frowning at the stale taste from it sitting there for so long. “I have a question about that, actually.” He started, looking at everyone on the table so they knew it wasn’t a question just for Mumbo, Gem sitting up a little straighter as Pearl raised an eyebrow, subconsciously leaning into her girlfriend’s side. “It’s a dumb question, but uh— what does it feel like? When you’re close to your soulmate? Compared to away.”

Just the question made Gem flush a little, looking at Pearl only to find her already looking at her, a small smile playing at her lips. A single, red string tied their wrists together, a string neither of them could see or feel.

Grian wondered, vaguely, what would happen if he touched it.

“Well— when I’m around Pearl, it just feels… easier, warmer, nicer. Like it’s where I’m meant to be.”

Pearl nodded at this, taking Gem’s hand to play with her fingers, lifting them up and pushing them down before looking at Grian, “When we’re not together it feels like everything is trying to push us to be. But you don’t really know that you were struggling until you feel the relief.”

And maybe it was his conversation with Scar that made it so easy to say what he did next. “Well, you know how I can see soul bonds?” He asked, everyone around the table nodding. It was how Gem and Pearl eventually got together, after all. “They’re strings, attaching people to each other. Do— can I touch yours? Just to see what happens.”

Mumbo obviously seemed very confused by this, looking between the couple and Grian with a frown, but Gem and Pearl nodded, so Grian leaned over the table and very gently lifted the string.

The immediate reaction was a flinch, shoulders raised, bodies tensed.

So he let it go, and the relief returned.

“That was weird.”

“Super weird.” Gem agreed, lifting her hand, but there was a sparkle in her eyes as she turned to Grian, grinning. “Do it again!”

Pearl’s immediate no made him chuckle, but it only raised more questions.

If him touching a soul string disrupted the bond temporarily, why did it have the opposite effect on Scar? Was it because he wasn’t technically soul-bound yet?

He just found himself looking at his own wrists, as empty as always, and he frowned.

“Anyways,” Gem started again, causing Grian to look back up, raising an eyebrow, “A little birdie told me you have a little boyfriend.”

The moment the words left her mouth, Grian spun around on Mumbo, the man sheepishly shrinking in on himself.

“We’re not dating. I don’t even like him like that. He’s a client.”

“Yeah but, all your clients are one-time,” Gem ventured, Grian not looking away from Mumbo, preparing himself to rip that stupidly great mustache off of his face. “The things you do can be done in five minutes, what do you guys even talk about?”

“… soulmate stuff.”

“Sure.” Gem scoffed, sipping her drink again before Pearl stole it off of her, sipping it as well. Finally, Grian looked away from Mumbo to level Gem with the most convincing look he could muster. It didn’t work at all. “I bet you know his whole family history, his pets’ names, his favourite hobbies, food, oh— if you know his favourite flowers you should buy him some.”

“What?! No!”

“So you do know his favourite flowers,” Gem teased, grinning as she leaned forward in her chair, rapping her hands on the wooden table. “What is it? Come on, tell me.”

Grian groaned, sinking into his own chair with a frown, somehow not taking his eyes off of Gem’s, both of them unwilling to back down.

Even when they both knew who’d won.

“Sunflowers.” He mumbled, Gem cackling as Pearl smiled at her, eventually joining in.

Mumbo was too worried for his life to laugh.

Only once the laughter had died down, a minute and a dozen stares later, did Gem say, “He’s hardly a client, Grian. He’s just paying to visit you. Stop charging him and invite him out to dinner.”

Grian was absolutely not going to invite him out for dinner.

Not charging sounded like a good plan though.

With one last death glare at Mumbo, he zoned back out of the conversation.

☆

Over the weeks, Grian noticed the string getting longer and longer. If he was any less knowledgeable in the field of soulmate strings, he'd be concerned about it being trodden on, but you can’t stand on something you can’t see. So, as long as Grian didn’t stand on it, all would be okay.

And that could easily be solved by holding it and observing it.

Every Friday, the tie became looser and looser.

The Friday before, he’d told Scar he had a feeling it would be completely unravelled by the next time they saw each other, and Scar had frozen, made a stilted noise, and been a little quieter for the whole half an hour.

And the Friday he was on, which had been a very long day, the moment he walked into the lobby he was confused by the severe lack of his friend. So he’d waited.

And waited.

And soon the half an hour was up, and no Scar could be seen.

So Grian went home.

He’d forgotten the life he’d lived not even three months prior, a life of going home without a smile on his face, without fresh memories on his mind, without that fluttery feeling in his chest.

He hadn’t realised he carried it with him for a week.

When Mumbo came over and asked if he was alright, he shrugged it off as being tired.

When Pearl face-timed him to help her get her marking done to get back to her students on time, and she mentioned his eye bags, he just said he felt a little under the weather.

And when, on that next Friday, he stayed in his office as his client walked themselves out, he hardly processed it. Because maybe Scar was done with visiting, maybe he got what he needed out of Grian— maybe he noticed that the payments hadn’t been going through for weeks and didn’t think he was allowed to come at all.

It was with all of that on his mind that his office door opened, and a certain someone walked in, eyes trained to his feet, his soul string longer than ever before, entirely unravelled at the end.

“Scar?” Grian asked as the man shut the door behind him, leaning forward in his seat, “I didn’t think you were coming.”

“I’m sorry I missed last week, I was… worried.” Scar confessed, looking up, meeting Grian’s eyes.

The first thing he felt was something soft and warm wrap around his wrist, around his heart. It was soft, and sweet, and in all honesty Grian wanted to cry a little.

“I know that you said my soulmate thingy is, like, finally attaching to someone, but just the thought that—“ Scar cut himself off then, and when Grian looked at him he saw a bright blush on his face. A blush that died down a little after a moment. “Oh my god, did I upset you? I’m so sorry, G!”

“No,” Grian sniffed, trying to fix his expression so he didn’t look as confused as he felt, red flashing in his vision and only making it worse, “No, you didn’t, Scar.”

“Look— I wanted to come. But I couldn’t bear knowing if my soul string connected to someone— because you don’t have one, do you? So— I don’t know.”

“Scar,” Grian finally managed out, ignoring how shaky his voice was to instead pull his arm in front of himself, observing the string from his own wrist to Scar’s. Then, slowly, he reached a hand out, gently holding the string.

He watched Scar shiver.

“You— me—?” Scar stuttered out, his blush furious, and it helped to keep Grian’s emotions under control a little, smirking at Scar’s shock. “But I thought you—?”

“Me too.” Grian scoffed, looking back at the band tied around his wrist. It wasn’t uncomfortable like he sometimes wondered it might be, more of a constant reassurance.

He wondered if he could tug on it.

Soulmate bonds weren’t exactly weak.

Then again, he didn’t want Scar to lose balance on his cane and fall over, so it was probably best to test it another day. What he did want to test was Gem’s words.

So he stood, crossed the room, and pulled Scar into a hug.

And oh.

He wanted to cling and never let go.

And he had a feeling that, if he did, Scar wouldn’t drop him, one hand holding him up or not.

But he didn’t. Just held him closer, and was so glad when an arm wrapped around his middle, steady and warm and everything felt a little too perfect.

A little too unreal.

“Scar?”

The man hummed against him, face buried in his neck, breaths ghosting across it, but he didn’t shiver, too warm and content in his hold.

“I’m not dreaming am I?”

“God I hope not.” Scar whispered, holding him tighter, and it felt a little like wings wrapping around them, enclosing them in their own little space. Grian never wanted to leave. “Because then I would have to be too.”

For a moment they just stood there, and Grian allowed himself a moment to process it.

The string around his hand, the man it was connected to, the feelings he’d been without every year of his life up until then. He’d never minded being left out too much, but he supposed you can’t wish for something if you don’t truly understand what you’re wishing for.

If he knew he could’ve had this, this feeling, this man, this life… he wasn’t sure what he would’ve done.

But now he did have it, he was determined to keep it.

Even then… he’d made a promise, a promise he had to acknowledge before he overthought it. So it was with great strength that Grian stepped back, Scar’s arm still firmly around him, eyes flicking between Grian’s own in confusion. “Why’d you pull away?”

“I made a promise to you.” Grian said, even though it pained him to. Scar just blinked, obviously not understanding. “I promised that if your bond was created, I’d break it.”

A cane dropped the moment he said it, Grian yelping as both of his wrists were held in Scar’s tight grip (that was clearly meant to be threatening, but Grian felt nothing but trust for the man holding him, knowing the last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt him), the man hardly wobbling on his feet like he usually did when without his stick. Maybe it was because he was holding onto Grian so tightly, or maybe he just wasn’t thinking as much about it, but all Grain could think about was the warm contact on his hands, holding them still, unable to do anything. After a moment, Scar leaned in, close enough for Grian to feel his breaths ghost his lips, and whispered, “If you so much as think about following through with that, we’re gonna have problems.”

A threat.

Of what, Grian wasn’t quite sure, because he knew Scar would never do anything to hurt him; but, equally, he supposed Scar knew he wasn’t planning on breaking their string in the first place.

So it was a game of chicken, really.

It was a quick and easy game.

All Grian had to do was lightly tug on the red thread between them and he fell just far enough down for Grian to press their lips together, an action that was immediately reciprocated, as if he’d expected it.

For a moment, that’s all they did. And Grian wanted to keep going, but the stupid man he was kissing had dropped his cane to prove a point and was now struggling to stand, not that he had the sense to pull away.

“Scar,” he managed between breaths, Scar already diving in for another kiss before he could get the rest of his words out. He managed it, eventually, “Your cane.”

“Oh! Right!”

“Here,” Grian huffed with a small, amused smile as he wriggled out of Scar’s hold, offering a hand properly this time and only bending down when Scar took it, picking up his cane at a record speed to hand it over. He absolutely did not blush more when Scar purposefully brushed their fingers when handing it over, that would make no sense because he was already holding his hand. Totally. “How about we go out for some dinner tonight?”

Scar nodded in agreement, tightening his hold on Grian’s hand as the man walked around his desk to grab his bag, slinging it over his shoulder before moving to head out. “It’s on me.”

“What? No, I offered, I’m paying.”

“You’ve been giving me free sessions for two months!”

“They hardly counted as sessions, you’d just talk about Star Wars for half an hour.”

“Well— yeah— but you still did your job!” Scar blurted out as they walked through the doors into the waiting room, Grian casting him a confused glance, watching the man flush a deeper red. “You said you’d find me someone unattached, and brought him right to your office.”

Despite his outward confidence, Grian could see the nervousness, the obvious tell he still wasn’t telling the whole truth.

But that was okay, he had all the time in the world to wheedle it out of him.

“Come on then handsome, where are you taking me for dinner?”

And when he flushed an even deeper red, all Grian could do was cackle and snuggle in closer.

All the time in the world.

☆

Name: Scar Goodtimes (he/him)

Age: 39

Description: Tall, confident (sometimes)  once relaxed , strong moral compass, honest, well-meaning, curious, restless, excitable, loving, tense , bright smile, emerald eyes, hopeful, handsome, brilliant, passionate, loving, giving, warm, funny, perfect.

Ideal partner:  Helpful, patient, organised, calming, intelligent, resilient, cautious, creative, finds joy in the little things, observant.  Me ◡̈

Repeat client: Friday 5:30pm.