Wrapped Around Your Wrist |Virgato|

Chapter 1: Background (Before the Numbers)

Chris tricks his mind into thinking the sun is rising, that the feeling of morning washing over him is not a lie. When he finally opens his eyes, he realizes the sun was a car driving past his window with the lights flicking inside and the energy he feels is anticipation more than rest.

He's getting his Timer today. In seven hours, his mom is going to drive him down to Court Street where the closest Timer location is, and he'll finally get one. His friends already have them, him being the runt of them all. He's sat while they've calculated the time left until they meet their one. He was even with Cynthia when hers went off, displaying the time she would meet her soulmate: five years, eight months, twelve days last time they discussed it in length. It's a bitter pill, those numbers, because Chris had hoped maybe, just maybe, Cynthia's Timer would go off when he got his.

Chris isn't naive. He's read up on Timers, he's talked to his friends, his parents, his older brother who already found his One. Chris watched through the years as his brother got a Timer, found the girl, and is now settled in an apartment with her a ten-minute walk away. Christopher's bare wrist is a reminder of how painfully young he is, but he's not naive.

He doesn't expect the Timer to immediately flash numbers. He knows some people have to wait months, even years, for their Timers to light up. And he knows it will probably be years after that until he actually meets his One. But none of that matters because just having a Timer is the first step.

He traces the skin on his right arm where the Timer will be. He hopes she's nice. A pretty smile, no, a smirk would be good. If they're supposed to be perfect together, Chris is sure she'll be tactile and cuddly. He wants lots of hugs.

The bright numbers on his clock read 3:27. In six hours and thirty-three minutes, Chris is going to get his Timer. Then he'll find his One.

_

"Come on, Chris!" Cynthia pulls him through the crowds to get to the center of the dance floor. Everyone is wearing varying shades of blue, but they're all pretending that their own shade of blue is the best. Cynthia, luckily, had some sort of vision about the color choices and bought a crimson dress. Chris laughs over the bass as her manicured hands grip onto his hand.

"You gonna dance with me?" Cynthia shouts as everyone jumps around them. Chris never would have guessed that a prom would be this cliche and fun at the same time.

"How do you dance to this?" Chris leans forward to say in her ear. He looks around at all the couples to get some ideas.

It's clear how much time people have on their Timers based on how they're dancing. There are the few fortunate couples who have already met their One, their bodies are snug together and looking into each other's eyes, mumbling about their kids or their wedding or something else that makes Chris want to vomit.

There are the kids who don't have much time left, like Cynthia. They came with friends, are in semicircles with other people and bopping because it would feel odd to be close to another person when your One is waiting for you.

Chris averts his eyes from the next group, the kids who have years to go. Chris feels waves of sympathy every time he sees Timers with twenty-plus years on them. Knowing your One is out there, looking for you, looking at the same number that you are, it must be torture. These kids are grinding sloppily, pressing teeth into their partners' necks and hiding hands in the folds of their partners' clothing. Chris thinks he would be like that, too, if he knew that his life would be almost over before he met his One. They chase the stimulated emotions of another person's hands on their body, looking for physical satisfaction from people who can't fulfill them emotionally.

Chris is in the often-forgotten category, the kids who don't have numbers. Yet. In his class of four hundred students, there are only three of them. Clara stayed home. Over the years, she'd been bullied, crude people writing her notes saying the reason her Timer was blank was her fault, that she wasn't worthy of a One. Knowing her, she's at home curled up with an old, Pre-Timers book.