All of your dreams are your soulmate's most significant memories from that given day.

A/N: I tried something different with this prompt which I think requires a little pre-reading explanation. Since the prompt was that the characters dream of their soulmate's day, I structed this so that the regular font is one daytime event in either Red or Liz's POV, starting with Liz. Then, after a line break, the following italics section is other half's corresponding dream, in which they watch the previous event through the eyes of the other. This continues, switching perspectives, until Red and Liz finally come together after seeing each other in their dreams. I'm aware that this is something different and potentially confusing, so I'd appreciate any feedback you can give me regarding how easy this was to follow, if you've got the time! As always, thank you for reading!

"White chocolate macchiato!"

Liz ignores the call of the barista, her own hot coffee sitting on her table by her elbow, as she scribbles notes in the margins of the psychology essay she's grading. Sloppy transitions, hasty presentation of psychological evidence, barely proving their point, citations formatted incorrectly. Another all-nighter essay. She'll have to give her psych 101 class a talking to. Again.

"Blueberry muffin!"

Liz makes it to the end of the last essay on her pile – finally – and hastily checks her watch. 1:52pm. She needs to leave now if she's going to make her 2:15pm lecture. It doesn't set a good example to be late for her graduate level profiling class. She doesn't want them getting any ideas.

"Soy almond latte!"

Liz stuffs the graded essays in her bag and throws it over her shoulder, snatching her phone from the table and grabbing her now cold coffee as an afterthought. She takes a look outside – drizzling again – and pulls the hood of her jacket up over her hair. The grey sky outside seems to match her mood.

She tosses her half-empty coffee cup in the trashcan on her way out the door.


"White chocolate macchiato!"

Red sees a pale, freckled hand race across a page of type, leaving written critique in neat red print with no hesitation. He feels the writer's head shake in disapproval, her annoyance radiating through them in waves.

"Blueberry muffin!"

The pale hand writes a final note and a rather poor grade at the end of the last essay and tilts the hand slightly to look at the small, delicate wristwatch strapped there. The writer's heart stutters a little in their chest as they see the time, interrupting the secondhand relief Red felt at finishing the essays. They need to get to class on time.

"Soy almond latte!"

The capable hands tuck the stack of papers into a folder, clearly labeled as "Psych 101", which gets slotted into place in a messenger bag between a laptop and a heavy criminal profiling textbook. The professor stands with their bag, phone, and coffee and turns to see rain falling outside. They feel melancholy and resigned at the sight. The pale hands tug their jacket hood over their head.

The half-full coffee cup is tossed easily in the trash on their way out the door.


"Cover, take cover!"

Red ducks behind the overturned van, feeling Dembe on his heels, the men across the field continuing fire, the bang of their shots sounding around them. He reloads his weapon in a hurry, wanting to be ready to move as soon as possible.

"This reminds me of Kazakhstan."

Red hears Dembe murmur beside him, finished reloading his own weapon already. He hums in amusement, shooting Dembe a grin. The situation is similar except for a few important details.

"We were on active duty then."

Dembe nods in acquiescence. Then they look at each other for a moment and, by some silent and invisible communication born from years of working together in the military, they leap out from behind the paint-splotched van, returning fire to their competitors, the paint balls landing squarely on their target's chests.

Red and Dembe crow in victory.


"Cover, take cover!"

Liz sees a pair of quick feet hurry behind a colorful, painted van. She feels the runner sit down heavily behind it and then look down at strong, tan hands clutching a large, black gun. The shots from their enemies echo in the air around them. The capable hands begin to reload the weapon in a complicated series of quick movements that are too quick for Liz to fully understand.

"This reminds me of Kazakhstan."

Liz feels a warm rush of amusement and fondness towards the owner of the voice even though, when the runner's head turns toward them, she doesn't recognize the face. She feels a hum in the runner's chest and their face breaks into a grin.

"We were on active duty then."

The unknown but cherished face nods and there is an instant of communication between the dark man and the Liz's runner before they jump out from behind the van, fluid and completely in sync, returning paint ball fire before their competitors can take cover.

The two men yell in victory.


"Excuse me!"

The normal hustle and bustle is there in the café as Liz pushes the door open, the small bell above her head tinkling to announce her arrival. She heads to the counter, joining the short queue waiting to place their orders.

"Medium hot coffee, cream and sugar, and a macadamia nut cookie, please."

The barista nods and hurries off to fill Liz's order. Liz wanders off to the side of the register to wait and as she does, her gaze wanders too. It happens to land on a man in a booth. Not an uncommon sight in a café like this but there's something about this man that makes Liz stare.

"Hot coffee and macadamia cookie!"

Liz jumps in surprise and quickly takes her order before making her way to her normal booth, which happens to be directly in front of the mystery man. She gets a good look at him at she passes and his hands in particular look strangely familiar. She takes her seat with a certain sense of satisfaction. Now she can stare and look somewhat conspicuous about it. After all, he is very handsome. Older, suave, well-dressed. Reading a newspaper while drinking an herbal tea and nibbling on a blueberry scone. How very interesting.

She stays long enough to finish her coffee today.


"Excuse me!"

Red sees a pair of pale hands push open the worn, red door to a quaint café, a high-pitched bell ringing somewhere above his head. The owner of the pale hands heads right for the counter on the opposite side of the room to order. Red hears the person speak in a clear, pleasant voice.

"Medium hot coffee, cream and sugar, and a macadamia nut cookie, please."

Red watches the busy barista, hair starting to slip loose from her braid, hurry off. The owner of the lovely voice and pale hands moves nearer the table and chairs to await their coffee and cookie but remains standing. He feels their head turn as they glance to an occupied booth. Red feels a jolt go through him, a very real in his own body that is lying asleep in his bed, as he recognizes himself.

"Hot coffee and macadamia cookie!"

Red feels his startle response both in his dream body and in his real one at the unexpected words. The pale hands reappear in his line of vision as they take the coffee cup and small bag and then they move to an unoccupied booth, glancing down at Red as they go by. Completely in shock, Red can feel the pleasure of the person with the pretty voice and hands at being able to watch his past self eat and drink unnoticed. Red can feel their interest and attraction equally inside of them.

They stay long enough to finish their coffee that day.

And when Red wakes, it is daytime, and it's with a sense of certainty that he's never felt before. Because he knows where to find his soulmate. And he will meet her today.


"All right, I'll see you later!"

Red bids Dembe goodbye and enters the café, feeling a certain sense of déjà vu as he watches his hand push open the red door just as he watched his soulmate's hand do the same thing the night before. Dembe came with him this far for moral support but, even so, Red's nervous as hell. After all, today is the day he meets his soulmate. With a deep breath that does nothing to calm him, he looks toward the booth he sat in during his dream last night. And there she is, her head propped in her hand – that pale, strikingly familiar hand – staring at him. It shocks him to finally see her face – she's so beautiful – and he's confused for a moment as to why she's looking at him like she knows him. But then it occurs to him that she saw herself in her dreams last night too. All in a rush, he remembers now that he'd glanced at her yesterday, noted her pretty face and deep concentration on the papers in front of her (all an act, he realizes now) and simply left, completely unaware of her significance. And she saw it all last night. So, she knows him now too. It's that thought that propels him forward to stand in front of her.

"Is this seat taken?"

It's a stupid, cheesy thing to say and he wants to take it back the moment he hears himself say it, but she laughs so he supposes it's all right. She smiles prettily at him and pushes something across the table in answer. He glances down – noting the considerable effort it takes to tear his eyes away from her gorgeous blue ones – and sees an herbal tea like the one he was drinking yesterday. He blinks in surprise. She paid attention. Of course she did, he thinks with an internal roll of his eyes, she's a psychologist. He should know after all. He's been fascinated by watching her study and write and grade every night for the last ten years. At his dumb stare, she slides a blueberry scone across the table with her other hand. He feels his heart stutter with something that can only be described as pure adoration.

"I'm Liz."

Lizzie. She's finally here. And she's perfect.


Liz sees herself again in her dreams that night.

"All right, see you later!"

She watches as he, Raymond, she now knows, says goodbye to Dembe, his nearest and dearest friend, as she learned today. She experiences his nervousness – he hadn't looked nervous at all today – and how he was struck breathless at the sight of her – he'd told her she was beautiful and he'dmeant it – and his realization at the fact that she knows him. How they both know in that instant that they are soulmates.

"Is this seat taken?"

Liz can feel his exasperation with himself at the line he'd just spouted and sees her own amusement written all over her face. She'd thought it was adorable. She's taken aback by the way he instantly loves her eyes and the fact that he's so touched she bought him tea and a scone brings tears to her eyes under her closed, sleeping lids.

"I'm Liz."

And the rush of pure love he feels at her two simple words, a feeling matching her own in that moment, something he's surely discovering now in his own dreams, has her crying in full force, waking herself up with tears of joy.

And when her eyes open, she is instantly comforted, the tears drying quickly on her face. Because she knows she isn't alone anymore. She's found her soulmate. And she's dreaming in his arms tonight.