What was her type? He couldn't figure it out. He'd known she was his soulmate since they'd first touched, but how the hell had she not found out by now? They'd known each other for two years. Two years was too long. Too long not to have found out by now. He'd tried saying her name, checked both her wrists for a timer, a bracelet or writing. Zilch. Nothing. She wore t-shirts so he knew there was nothing on her arms. She wore jumpers around him so it couldn't be anything to do with temperature; he had even checked by brushing her arms to see if her body was heating up. She saw everything colour; he'd checked that one by asking her to settle an argument he'd started about the exact hue of his t- shirt. It was so frustrating. If she had a mark or tattoo she would have figured it out by now, surely?
He sighed. Maybe he should just wait for it to happen. Or maybe he wasn't her soulmate? That sent a shock straight through him. He always tingled when they brushed against each other, but maybe that wasn't what he thought it was. He had to check.
The next day, he came in and sat down next to her, striking up a conversation. He lost track of what she was saying, trying to move his leg so that it touched hers. He focused on all his feelings, the ones that had been there before he realised she was his soulmate as well as the ones that had gradually appeared afterwards. Their legs touched, and he almost jumped out of his skin. His spine tingled, his breath hitched, and he had to clench his fists as he got a little hot and bothered. That seemed like a pretty positive outcome, but now he had a bigger problem on his hands.
As soon as they left the form room for their various classes, he walked quickly to the bathroom and tried to calm down. God, he needed to get a grip. At least he'd found out what he'd wanted to know. She was definitely meant to be his soulmate. He'd brushed past other people, hugged other people, and it never felt like that, but this touch had been even more different. When he would accidentally brush past her before, he had felt a tingle like a little electric shock travel from the point of contact through his entire body. Now, it was like the strength had increased tenfold. So much so that it was going to become an issue.
He took a deep breath to steady himself. He wanted to touch her again. Badly. Why couldn't he have just been the type who saw the world in colour when they saw their soulmate for the first time? Or at least, why couldn't she have something like that? Instead of this impossible thing that hurt his brain when he tried to think of what the bloody hell it could possibly be.
At lunch, he detoured to the library to see if he could find some kind of reference for all the different types. He found a good book, settled down in an armchair and just began to have a flick through, when she came wondering in to the same section. He almost fell out of the chair. At least she laughed and didn't think he was completely off his rocker.
"Hey," he said,
"How come you aren't at the rugby trials?" She asked, a little baffled.
"I did mine yesterday," he answered awkwardly, trying not to focus on the book he had in his lap. Her eyes floated to it anyway. She smiled, "What are you reading?" She picked it up and her smile only grew. She glanced back at him, eyebrows raised teasingly.
"Looking for your type? Or someone else's?" She smirked conspiratorially, making him squirm a little in his seat. He tried for the cocky approach, "If you're so superior, tell me yours," He grinned, perhaps a little too wide.
"What, my soulmate or my type?" Her eyes shone with constrained glee.
He shrugged his shoulders, "Both?" He winced at the way he said it, but she only laughed, turned on her heel and said, only just audibly, "Maybe next time," She smiled one last sweet smile, and walked off, leaving his heart beating irregularly fast, his throat and stomach both doing pirouettes over and over and over. God, whatever the hell he was feeling, he knew it was real.
