Aaron had obviously been using his own personal, contrarian definition of 'together' the last time they spoke – one that translated to 'staying as far apart as it's possible for two people to get when they live in a village roughly the size of a postage stamp' – because for the next four days, Robert doesn't catch so much as a glimpse of him.

Even the bond is subdued, faded away to a slight, tickling pressure that bears down against the back of Robert's eyes like a trapped sneeze, and he begins to think that Aaron might have up sticks and moved away without telling him, after all.

On the morning of the fifth day, however, he receives a tersely mysterious text from Aaron that tells him nothing more than a place and time. Noon at the pub.

It's close enough to a summons that he almost feels obliged to be indignant over the presumption of it, if only for a few minutes before allowing himself to be intrigued, wondering if it had been prompted by Aaron discovering some method of severing their bond during his ghost-like absence from village life.

If he has, then the solution is far more prosaic than the one Robert had been imagining. Given the nature of the bond, he would have expected at least something in the way of arcane accoutrements – clouds of incense, chanting, perhaps a priest with brimstone eyes clutching a Bible – but when he arrives at the Woolpack at the appointed time, there's only Aaron, seated at the furthest point possible from both the one other occupied table and the bar, two full pints and a folded copy of that day's Hotten Courier laid out on the table in front of him.

Robert sits in the chair set opposite him when Aaron invites him to do so with a curt nod of his head, and then asks, "So, what now?"

"Drink" – Aaron waves his hand towards one of the pints – "read" – towards the newspaper – "ignore me" – towards himself – "and, you know, try to ignore the other thing, too."

"That's it?" Robert asks. "That's your grand plan?"

Aaron frowns. "It's a plan," he says. "I never said it was grand. You got any better ideas?"

For reasons he has not cared to examine at all, never mind too closely, Robert has not given the matter even the most cursory of thoughts. "No," he admits, "but there must be something else. You said yourself that ignoring it wasn't working. Not to mention that we've done this before and it didn't exactly help."

"I reckon it might work better if we're both ignoring it. And it won't be like last time." Aaron narrows his eyes warningly. "No touching."

The possibility had never crossed Robert's mind. "Fair enough," he says. "It's worth a shot, I suppose."

He unfolds the paper as Aaron settles back, opening his own magazine. Today's front page features an expose on the deplorable state of the local roads, including a picture of a pothole that has been taken at angle that was doubtless carefully chosen in order to make it look like an unbridgeable chasm: a subject close enough to Robert's heart that he finds it engrossing for the thirty seconds or so it takes to read.

Thereafter, though, it's petty theft following petty theft following 'a day in the life of father and son dry wallers'; nothing that can hold sufficient of his interest that he can tune out the bond, which is currently twanging in a slightly ominous minor key.

Against Aaron's orders, he looks around the pub in search of another means of distraction.

Vic had emerged from the kitchen whilst he was mildly diverted by the paper, and is standing behind the bar, her elbows propped on top of it, and watching them with a faint, puzzled smile. When their gazes meet, she dips and raises her eyebrows at him in a complex, semaphoric pattern which clearly signals that she's both reading entirely too much and entirely the wrong thing into his and Aaron's proximity.

"Civil," he mouths back to her.

She looks just as unimpressed by that answer as she had the last time he'd offered it, and appears set to march on over and demand a more satisfactory one, but before she can make good on the threat that the determined squaring of her shoulders promises, Chas swoops in and sends her back to the kitchen to deal with the hypothetical lunch rush that's sure to ensue any second, what with the pub having all of four customers present.

Chas then takes Vic's place at the bar, and desultorily waves a cloth in the vague direction of a pint glass whilst treating Robert to one of the more poisonous glares in her baleful repertoire yet again.

"I think your mum's trying to set my head on fire with her eyes," he observes to Aaron in an undertone.

"Just ignore her," Aaron says without looking up from his magazine.

Robert chuckles. "That's your answer for everything, isn't it?"

Aaron's lips twitch a little at the corners; a Schrödinger's expression that's the beginnings of a frown and a smile simultaneously.

Ultimately, and disappointingly, he settles on a frown, and reminds Robert in a gruff tone to, "Keep reading."

But Robert returns his attention instead to Chas, who now has a companion in her scowling disapproval in the form of Marlon. A few minutes later, they're joined in turn by Paddy, who barrels in through the pub's front doors at what passes for high speed for him, his bald pate rubicund and gleaming from his exertions.

The three of them huddle together and hold a hushed conversation conducted in sibilant whispers. Given the number of darkly meaningful looks directed his way, they're discussing his deplorable act of sitting in Aaron's vicinity, how it represents fresh evidence of his unrepentantly nefarious nature, and the best strategies for rescuing Aaron from it, post-haste.

"Fucking hell," Aaron groans, the words accompanied by a sharp, jabbing spike in their bond. "I can't concentrate with them three here."

"You can't concentrate on ignoring me," Robert asks, surprised that Aaron would admit to having to expend any effort at all to accomplish that particular task.

"On anything." Aaron gets to his feet, tucks his half-read magazine under his arm, and then drains the remainder of his beer in one long draught. "I'm going to get back to work. We'll try this again tomorrow, somewhere quieter.
-

-
Herbal remedy
Homeopathy
Prayer circle
Herbal remedy
Self-proclaimed spiritual expert with dubious credentials

It's no wonder that Aaron's decided that their best bet is to simply will their bond out of existence, because Robert's been reading adverts, articles and testimonials for nearly three hours now, and hasn't seen one purported cure that seems even remotely credible.

Not that there are all that many of them, full stop, and even those companies trying to peddle overpriced, under-researched medicines usually lead in with an advisory that soulmates are a special, unique gift from [deity of choice], and the breaking of bonds should only be attempted in the direst of circumstances after every other avenue of reconciliation has been explored.

'Magic spell'
Self-proclaimed spiritual expert with dubious credentials
Pendant that looks like a badly mangled paperclip

"'Bond-blocking amulet'," Vic reads aloud as she peers down at his phone screen. "Is that for you, Rob?"

"Not for £79.99, it isn't," Robert says. "And I seriously doubt it would do anything, either way."

Vic perches beside him on the arm of the sofa, and then leans into him, pressing her arm against his. "You want to get rid of the bond?"

Robert shrugs noncommittally. The bond's hardly the deep intertwining of heart, body and mind that thousands of years of recorded history would have him believe, but it's really nothing more or less than a mild irritant at present, and, left to his own devices, he could probably learn to just live with it as he has the slight, stinging twinge in his chest he now suffers from when he breathes a little too deep. As Aaron has taken against it so adamantly, though, the path of least resistance lies in the opposite direction, and he's equally happy to follow it that way.

"It's not really worth keeping," he says. "It's nothing like you'd expect."

"What is it like, then?"

"I can't really expl—"

"Don't you dare!" Vic cuts in, cuffing Robert lightly on the shoulder. "You used to hate it when Andy told you that."

"I really can't, though." Robert cautiously leans away from her just in case she decides to take another swing at him. "It hasn't made anything brighter or better, it hasn't made me complete – whatever that means – it's just... just a constant background hum. Like tinnitus, I guess, but inside my head instead of my ears."

"Oh." Vic's lips purse briefly in a disappointed moue. "That doesn't sound good."

"It's not," Robert says. "Though I suppose it might be different for people whose soulmates don't hate them."

"I'm sure they don't hate you," Vic says stoutly.

Robert pushes the left sleeve of his shirt back until the first three words of his mark are revealed, and then gestures towards them. "Exhibit A."

"Point taken." Vic lets out a deep sigh. "I'm sorry, Rob."

"It's okay," Robert says, giving her hand a quick, reassuring squeeze. "You know I think it's all a load of crap, anyway."