Not A Chance

Prologue - The Science Behind Soulmates

So...soulmates, right? They existed. Peter was certain. He had no scientific proof nor was there any kind of laws to explain what made soulmates...soulmates. But to say that the name basically inked on his skin was enough proof was an understatement. Sure he had tried to come up with some logical explanation as to why people were basically born to be with other people but truth be told: There was no real science behind soulmates. Just fate, probably. And there was no way of explaining fate with equations either.

He had been told many stories, everyone had their own version and, ever since the first letter appeared on his chest, he'd tried to figure out the truth behind the whole "soulmate" thing.

He knew it was different for everyone. Some people got full names from the beginning (the lucky ones), some others what would be their soulmate's first words to them, others numbers (some sort of timer that'd count down the years/days/hours till you met your partner), others the date in which they'd both meet and finally the ones who got names one letter at the time. Peter was part of the last group of individuals. However, no matter what kind of soul-mark you got, it was always placed right above your heart.

He'd met people with beautiful soul-marks during his lifetime, just like he'd met people with funny ones too. But he'd never forget Connor, the redhead from seventh grade whose soul-mark read "Move your fucking pumpkin spice ass out of the way!" Poor guy.

Peter remembered when the first letter appeared. He was ten years old and had just come back from playing outside with Harry Osborn, both boys ended up completely covered in mud. Aunt May said he couldn't have dinner until he'd taken a bath, so he rushed up the stairs and basically sprinted into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. The moment the little boy had taken off his shirt, he noticed. There it was. On his chest, right above where his heart should be.

Written in gold, clear as day, was a "W".