Summary: In a cruel twist of fate, the world prevents you from lying to your soulmate. Each question acts as a truth serum, pulling the answers from your lips. Unfortunately for two secretive individuals, the inability to lie is more jarring than finding a soulmate.
Warnings: Insults, allusions to fighting and injury.
Word Count: 1,000+
Prompt: This fic was inspired by the prompt "You cannot lie to your soulmate," by @sentence-prompts on Tumblr.
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It had been a fool's job. You knew that as soon as you'd taken it. But there was nothing else you could do. At the end of the day, you needed money. And being a bodyguard for a wealthy, stubborn girl was the price you had to pay to live another day.
Although you were involved with the team, Squala had recommended you take to patrolling due to your unusual Nen abilities. More often than not, it led you to danger rather than repulsed you from it. Every hour, Melody or Squala would call for information on your location, reminding you of your job to protect Neon. With that information, they would move accordingly, attempting to avoid your immediate vicinity for fear you were close to someone or something unsavory.
Thankfully, the unconscious leash that led you to trouble had always existed. Rather than fight it, you'd trained to work alongside it. You'd grown strong, clever, light on your feet, but that wasn't always enough.
You should've turned around that day, walked to the other end of town. Instead, you followed your heart toward an old part of town, feeling the eyes on you well before you could see them.
In your defense, you put up a valiant fight. You zipped through the streets, excelling in hand-to-hand combat against a foe cloaked in darkness, almost impossible to see. It had been a misstep, an over-rotation, that led to your demise. Then he was smirking down at you, the urge to torture already tingling in his fingertips. But he didn't kill you.
Not at first.
The building was dusty and the chains were heavy, but that didn't matter much. There was no way to escape, especially not with the man standing before you, staring you down with a chilling gaze. This would be the end of your life, you were sure of it. But you'd fight to keep your secrets to the very end.
The worst part was the audience, though you didn't imagine that would stay the worst part for long.
"Who you work for?" the man asked.
You shook your head 'no,' before, "The Nostrade Family," fell from your lips. It was the truth. Your eyes widened. You'd told him the truth.
He noticed the panic in your eyes. Figured. Dying people often sold out their closest friends for another few minutes of air. You were no different. He'd make sure you remembered your decision accordingly.
