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They say meeting your soulmate is the best and worst thing that can ever happen.

Ash met hers when she was twelve — a wanna-be leader running the tunnels and gutters, loud and defiant and fearing no rival. Stringy, greasy yellow-blonde hair and a permanent look of glaring on Ash's face.

She ran into another girl around her age, literally and physically outside a Manhattan alleyway.

Charlotte.

With one touch on Charlotte's hand gripping onto Ash's wrist, helping her stand up, Ash knew her name and who she was to her and saw — saw— she saw that puddle of dark, liquidy crimson on gravel and knew.

For some reason, it didn't stop Ash from hanging around her.

(Maybe it's just a bad dream.)

Charlotte was loud and defiant too as they grew up, but dressed like a fashion stylist with her teeny, designer purses and beige, cashmere wrap-skirts and asymmetric satin-jacquard midi dresses. She performed as a background dancer for music videos in New York City. Despite being very underaged, the professionals and their agents hiring her would force Charlie to lie to work for a jack-ton of money. But never complained.

She sold herself, but not in the way Ash had been groomed into doing.

Ash thought one day Charlotte would bail on her.

Why would she want to be friends with a skinny, mean gangster who chopped off her hair and who always wore ripped jeans flecked in dried blood? They couldn't be more opposite.

But Ash liked her. She liked her so much. Charlotte's nasally burst of laughter, and her brown-honey eyes.

High tits. Nude-colored lipstick and eyeshadow. Purple crop-tops that revealed her flawless ebony skin. And all of that ironed-straight, gorgeous red hair that spilled over Charlotte's neck and face.

Red felt perfect. Not bloody, not howling in anger or in violence. Just yearning.

Ash's lips would touch Charlotte's palm and her forearm, breathing in vanilla, warm scent, while they hid out in Charlotte's studio apartment. They were sixteen and helplessly drunk on the feeling of completeness, of affection and bubbly champagne-dreams, kissing, petting between Charlotte's slim, dark brown thighs.

Charlotte, tall and beautiful and defiantly honest, tasted so good. She gushed in swollen-wet heat when Ash licked over her vaginal folds, pressing own with her nose and entire mouth until Ash felt weightless, dizzy.

Dark, liquidy blood on a sidewalk. Another rivaling gang member fled the scene, pocketing his gun.

Ash felt her die, trapped on the opposite end of a city traffic jam, screaming and bawling her eyes out.

Then she felt nothing.

Her second soulmate came in the form of a baby-faced Japanese girl. Eiji wore her dark, curly hair in a high ponytail that day in the low-lit, grimy bar. Slacks and loafers. A plain, cotton blouse and a winter jacket.

Their fingers brushed, when an expressionless but/curious Ash passed Eiji her gun. For a millisecond.

And Eiji saw — saw — saw it too late. Dark, puddling blood on library steps.

(Just a bad dream.)

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Banana Fish isn't mine. We gotta have some angst. I know this series is Angstville but I have FEELINGS about Ash's crush. AND I MADE EVERYBODY GIRLS. BECAUSE. THAT'S WHY. Thanks for reading and any POSITIVE COMMENTS are welcomed! I had "Vanilla" for official Femslash February prompt and also "Soulmates - Characters Get a Second Soulmate After The First Has Died" as my next challenge prompt! I think it fit appropriately for this idea dfkjfjdfh