Moira

4.

000d, 00h, 0m, 00s

"Hey!" It didn't take more than a mere moment for me to rush after him, my strides long and purposeful as I followed him through the suddenly busy streets of Arcan City.

Had they been this busy the whole time? Or was all of this just some sick joke?

It didn't take long for whatever I felt before to turn into annoyance, either.

I shouted after him once more. "Hey!" His legs were longer than mine, and his steps bigger, which had me struggling to keep up. My eyes darted over to the people sending me inquiring looks, their own gaze following first me before they fell onto the man I was quite literally chasing.

My brows knitted together at one scene in particular when a pair came to a halt, whispering and giggling as I rushed past them. My eyes still on them, head just about to turn around again, I called after him once more.

"Hey—!"

Startled, I sucked in a sharp breath of air, swallowing half the word when I collided with his back. My eyes widened slightly as I took a step back, though I was pleased with the fact he came to a halt in the first place.

He was mid eye roll when he turned to face me, a deep sigh escaping his lips as his head cocked to the side. He waited for me to explain myself, but I didn't think an explanation was needed.

The explanation was right there on his wrist.

My eyes darted down to where his arm was resting, left hand buried in the dark jacket he was wearing, while his right one pushed his hair out of his face in irritation; the motion made my eyes snap back up to his.

"What?" He asked impatiently, irritation lacing not only his features but his voice, too. His brows twitched, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying anything else.

"You—" I began, quickly realising that's not at all the way I wanted to start my sentence.

He scoffed at my hesitation, and I watched in horror as he turned around again, fearing he'd run off once more. Though this time, his steps were leisurely, and I could see the way he shook his head in disbelieve.

"I—?" He mocked my words, and the amusement in his voice — in a situation that wasn't amusing in the slightest — had me snap out of it and catch up with him just as he turned the corner into a much quieter street.

"I don't—" I didn't think that was how I wanted to start my sentence either, and I interrupted myself with an annoyed huff.

His amusement now on full display, he tilted his head slightly, a smirk growing on his lips as he leaned against the white building behind him. He crossed his arms in front of his chest before repeating my words; my inability to form a coherent sentence quite funny to him, apparently.

"You don't—?" He said, brows lifting in a manner that was supposed to urge me to continue. All it did, though, was annoy me further.

This wasn't how things were supposed to go. Why did I have to explain what was already explained perfectly well on his left wrist?

Another gust of air escaped my mouth, my own irritation apparent now.

"No, you don't get to ruin this! What is—"

"Don't get to ruin what, exactly?"

My body deflated slightly at his words, and my brows furrowed in confusion.

Baffled, I asked, "Come again?"

There was no way he didn't know what I was talking about. After all, the countdown was imprinted on your arm; in your skin. It's not something you could just ignore or forget about.

"What is it that I don't get to ruin for you? I don't even know you."

My eyes darted down to the hand still buried in his pockets at the same time as I lifted mine, turning it to give him a clear view of my left wrist.

In red, the numbers against my skin stood still; just the way it was supposed to be. Like it's done its job and could rest now.

000d, 00h, 0m, 00s

I wouldn't admit it to myself then, but I didn't think it had done its job well enough.

He understood what I was trying to say clearly. I knew because I watched the amused features in his face fall all at once, leaving nothing but a cold stare behind.

A few seconds of silence were followed by a scoff escaping his mouth, wetting his lips as his head turned to the side again.

"Of course," He muttered, nodding to himself as if to reassure his own thoughts. He squeezed his eyes shut forcefully for a second before they landed on me.

Without a hint of emotion in his icy features, he retracted his hand from his pocket in one swift motion, rolling the sleeve of it up.

My eyes latched onto the band-aid around his left wrist just before he let the arm of his jacket cover it again. I wasn't quite sure which one of my initial reactions I should follow.

I ended up not following any of them, still perplexed as he simply pushed himself off the wall he was stood against, walking past me and back into the crowded street we came from.

He was already gone when a singular, dry, humourless laugh escaped my lips, my own head shaking in disbelieve.

I heard of people like him before, the ones with band-aids covering their countdown in hopes it would keep them from finding their person.

People who thought The System was unnecessary; people who thought living before it was implemented was so much better as if they knew what it was like to live hundreds of years ago.

They didn't, and it was chaotic. Getting trapped in wrong, abusive, toxic relationships. Wasting years of your life with someone you wouldn't end up with, anyway—one heartbreak after the other in hopes you'd find your soulmate eventually.

How could that be any better?

The System made sure none of that happened. The System made sure you found your right match. And it's worked for hundreds of years.

But for the first time in my entire life, I didn't know how I could say 'The System never fails' when it did.

Because why would it give me a soulmate that didn't believe in them?