In a universe where everyone is born with numbers on their wrists counting down to when they’ll meet their soulmate, send me 00:00:00 for my muses reaction to their numbers hitting zero when they meet yours.

      Monet hadn’t really been paying attention to the clock in her left wrist lately, busy as she had been getting settled on her new apartment. She had noticed, along the years, that sometimes the time would froze on it, or be increased for some reason she didn’t know. Maybe if she had been paying attention to it she would have noticed that it was awfully close to zero. But she didn’t.

Years ago she had decided to ignore it. She knew people that had gone nuts, getting obsessed with it beyond what anyone could consider healthy, so she stopped looking at it. 

It was winter, but it hadn’t snowed not even once that year yet, or so the girl from real state had told her. People was wearing gloves, scarf and hats since it was quite cold outside. Even if she was used to the cold she did wear a steel blue coat, and a woolen white hat that Five had given her before she left the city. 

She was queuing in line, waiting to get a hot cocoa in Starbucks before deciding to take a walk before it got darker. She had no food in her apartment yet, and even if she had food she would have no way to cook it. The kitchen wasn’t finished yet.

Monet looked around as the queue advanced. That starbucks was in the city center, in the most known square. It was quite pretty with all the lights and the Christmas decorations all over, but something else caught her eye. The flaming orange hair of the pretty waitress  attending the countertop. 

She stared at her as she awaited her turn, liking the easy confidence of her smile and how warm and lighthearted her voice sounded. The guy before her finished to order and her turn arrived, so she stepped forward, looking at her warm chocolate eyes as she spoke. 

— ❝ I’d like a hot cocoa with caramel, please. And one of those cookies❞ 

   And then she felt it, like a particularly hard heartbeat as the ginger girl looked into her eyes. Monet didn’t inmediately associate it to the clock, but after a few seconds of utter silence the waitress did, looking into her wrist, and only when Monet saw the six zeros on the other’s pale skin she realized what was going on.

Monet’s eyes widened in surprise at that, and she was glad he wasn’t holding anything with her hands, or she would have let it drop after realizing that it was her.

She had finally found her soulmate.