dreamy | harry styles one-shots

soulmates au excerpt

hey......hi...........hope you're all doing well................

anyway I've been missing writing a bit and I've been wanting to start some kind of short story and landed on a soulmates au idea!! I'm a little rusty but here's a little excerpt of what I was thinking about doing. I'm not sure if people care or wanna read my stuff anymore but !!!!! yeah here ya go 

. . .

He's doing it again.

With a sigh, I attempt to pull the cozy throw blanket impossibly closer to my body. I know it's futile to try — that he likely won't feel the comfort I'm doing my best to offer him, that whatever he's doing or wherever he is takes up most, if not all of his attention — but the blistering wave of melancholy that encompasses my body is too much to ignore.

It's always like this on Friday and Saturday nights.

While I sit at home watching a comfort movie or crocheting my way through my latest project, issuing periodic pets to my orange tabby cat Rory, my soulmate is out trying to drain his sorrows in alcohol and drugs. I don't know what he's always trying to douse away — whether it be trauma or a shitty breakup, or maybe he's just going through a hard time — but no matter what, I can feel it.

It's part of those films they showed us back in fifth grade, when they separated the guys and the girls and took them into different rooms to explain puberty and drugs and alcohol and, lastly, soulmates. Everyone has one, and in some ways, that was comforting — to know that you weren't completely alone, even in light of messy breakups or friends-with-benefits-situations gone wrong.

For many years, I, like many kids, subscribed to the fairy tale ending we were promised. I hoped and dreamed of my soulmate, always wondering what they were doing and if we shared similar likes and dislikes. Admittedly, though, searching for that special someone gets tiring after a while. When you think you have a spark with a person, filled to the brim with hopefulness that maybe they're your end-all-be-all — only to find out that they're dating three other people on the side, or they were going on dates with me just to get closer to my roommate, Madison.

It's not that I don't believe in it anymore. It's obvious that he's out there — I can still remember the lines from the educational movie they made us watch all those years ago: "If your soulmate is in peril, pain, or danger, the part of your brain that controls your emotions — the limbic system — will signal to your own body that something's wrong," the monotonous narrator said, "Likewise, intense emotions such as anger, sadness, overwhelming joy, or lust may be transferred between you and your soulmate, depending on the strength of your connection."

And if what they said in health class was true, then apparently, my soulmate and I must be tethered together by the strongest string in existence.

It's rare that I feel happiness that can be attributed to him. It's almost always slow beads of sorrow that drip down my chest, forming a pit of dread deep in my stomach. When my brain is a little bit fuzzier, I know he's been drinking, but the gloom never ceases to exist — it's just pushed aside, making room for the foggy mindset he's placed himself in.

When it's like this, the only thing I can do to self-soothe is go to bed. It creates my own pool of sadness, wondering what my soulmate could possibly be going through to feel this awful all the time. At the same time, I speculate about whether or not he even considers me, or what feelings he receives from me. 

Does he ever even think of me the way I think of him?