Everyone had a soulmate piece, regardless of whether they wanted to or not. Doctors put you in a scanning machine when you were born, the machine would fashion a piece for you, and you could wear it around your neck or your wrist or whatever. When you were about to meet your soulmate, your piece would grow warm, and you'd look around and just know who it was. Then you'd put your pieces together. The two pieces would form a puzzle, fitting together. Your formerly gray pieces would turn a shining silver color, and then you'd get married with your soulmate, happy ending, blah blah blah. The pieces worked 99.9% of the time. So what about the other 0.1 percent? Well, I'm quite familiar with that minority. I'm part of it.

Hello. I'm Arthur Kirkland, and I will never find my soulmate. I came to terms with it when I was around 6, because my piece was a circle. A smooth disk, with no ridges, about the size of a quarter. I strung it on a necklace, but I knew there was absolutely no way anything could fit with my piece. I was born without a happy ending.

I generally distanced myself with people, preferring books, because they were a lot more solid kind of company compared to the fickle relationships and thoughts of humans. So imagine my surprise when my chest felt warm when boarding my airplane.

I immediately thought I was sick, but that couldn't have happened. I was perfectly fine this morning, I had my tea, I had my briefcase, I had everything. I was sitting in my seat, and I was fine. So why was my chest feeling like it was going to burst into flames?

Someone sat in the seat next to me and put their hand on my shoulder. I immediately jerked in my seat and turned around to tell the person off, but my words died on my lips. There was a man who looked a few years younger than me, maybe twenty? His blond hair framed his face perfectly, ending around his jaw, with a strange gravity-defying cowlick at the part. His skin was smooth and tanned, his eyes were blue and sparking behind his glasses, and when he grinned at me with a charming smile, my heart felt like it was going to burst.

I furrowed my brows. I don't have a soulmate, so why the hell was I attracted to this guy?

"Who are you?" I asked. The man didn't seem to notice my question, instead he brought his fingers to my face. I jerked back.

"I can't believe it," he murmured. "You're perfect." My face grew red, whether it was embarrassment or anger, I'm not sure.

"Excuse me?" I stuttered, thoroughly confused. He blinked and seemed to break out of his eerie trance.

"Oh, sorry! I'm Alfred F. Jones." He grinned brightly.

"I'm Arthur Kirkland." I nearly turned back around, but his words stopped me short.

"I'm so glad we're soulmates!"

My- holdonasecond. What the hell?!

"I'm sorry, but I don't have a soulmate." Why did that feel like a lie? The heat in my chest grew stronger, and I nearly flinched.

The man's smile dropped. "But don't you feel it?" he whispered. He put a hand on my chest. Yes, I felt it. But no, I did not have a soulmate.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about." I turned around.

"Hey," he said, tapping me.

I whirled around, a bit annoyed and lightheaded from the furnace in my heart.

"Can we just try to fit our pieces together?" Alfred pleaded, dipping his hands under his collar and pulling out a dull grey piece. It was large, like crescent, with no ridges to indicate a fit.

I sighed. I knew what it was like to not have a soulmate. What was the harm? It wouldn't even work.

I pulled out my piece. Alfred smiled shyly and touched the curve of his crescent to the edge of my disk, and my heart stopped.

A feeling unknown filled me up, making my dizzy and breathless. The two pieces lit up brightly, and my heart burst. I looked into Alfred's eyes, shocked, and our faces were illuminated by the glow.

At that moment, the rest of the people on the flight didn't matter, the captain speaking didn't matter, the flight attendants didn't matter, the plane moving didn't matter, all that mattered was the fact that I. Had. A. Soulmate.

Alfred's fingers cupped my cheek, and I kissed him. I kissed him for the sake of kissing him, for the simple pleasure of letting my hands slide into his hair and tilting my mouth so that our mouths could fit together and my heart could sing. It was pure, our lips pressed against each other, open just the slightest, sharing breaths in that moment that felt like forever.

Oh, the writer in me.

We pulled back at the same time, my eyes closed and lips parted for just one more fleeting moment to catch the feeling. The glow of our necklaces had subsided, and they were now a bright silver. But-

"Why are they still stuck together?" I wondered. Alfred flushed red.

"I, uhm. Glue." He stumbled over his words and blushed even brighter, his ears burning.

"What?" I was bewildered.

"It was a ritual!" He blurted. He pressed his lips together and sighed through his nose. "It was a ritual. I thought I didn't have a soulmate because my piece had no ridges. When I was young, my brother told me to put glue on it so that my piece would stick my soulmate's. I thought it made sense, so I did." Alfred groaned. "It became somewhat of a lucky charm. I do it every time something important happens. And well, this flight was pretty important for me, so when before I boarded, I put some superglue on it. And well, you know the rest." He rubbed his forehead in shame.

I fought a smile. "You put superglue on your piece?" He was such an idiot.

He looked at me shyly. "Um, yeah." Then his entire expression brightened up. "I guess you could say, 'We're stuck together!'"

I burst out laughing. Alfred snickered with me. I leaned back during my fits of laughter, but forgot that out necklaces were still attached. Before I knew it, Alfred was sprawled out over me, my head hitting the window and our bodies stretched out over two seats. I didn't care who watched, I didn't care who saw. My heart was light and happy, so much so that I could have flown. My soulmate was a dork, but god, he was adorable.

God, I don't even know. It's a bit OOC, sorry about that.