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Share Our Souls

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Naruto Uzumaki was the perfect knuckleheaded character of a story who wouldn’t make it as the main protagonist even if he was. He was a goofball and young at heart. He was immature, brash, eccentric, and hardworking. He never backed down from a challenge, and he always accomplished his heart’s true desires and goals. It always seemed like he never ran out of energy despite the fact that he was a struggling college student pulling all-nighters left and right.

October 19th seemed like it would have been a normal day for Naruto, had it not been for the strange mark that suddenly appeared on his left wrist that morning. To call it a mark would be taking a few creative liberties. Neat and delicately written words were etched into his tan skin, as if someone had taken a sharpie and scribbled them there while he was asleep. It read:

I don’t know if this soulmate thing works, but write back if it does.

The blond raised an eyebrow at his wrist. For some strange reason, deep down in his insides, he felt tempted to write back. He thought the soulmate talk sounded familiar, but he couldn’t seem to recall where he had heard it from. He fought through his memories viciously. He received a brief flash of when he was browsing through Tumblr one day and saw a post about it for his mental efforts.

It was along the lines of everyone having a soulmate, and that whatever you wrote on your own skin would appear on theirs. It allowed a form of communication between them. He didn’t believe it at first, thinking it was a bunch of bullshit talk from some girl on the internet. After all, he found it on Tumblr ; it wasn’t exactly a reliable source.

In his half-asleep daze, Naruto shrugged the blankets off and sat up against his wall. His eyes glanced around for a pen or marker, eventually finding nothing. He rubbed the sleep out of his ocean blue eyes. He lazily swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stretched out his arms and yawned, taking a glance back at the beautifully written words on his wrist. He really wanted to write something back, just to see if it was real. Hell, maybe Kiba was pulling a prank on him to see if he would fall for this shit.

But what if he really had a soulmate?

He shook his head to rid himself of the fleeting thought. He grumbled to himself under his breath as he scrambled through his bedside drawers. He eventually found a black sharpie and tore the cap off.

He hastily wrote down below the message, So are you my soulmate?

He tossed the pen aside as he walked to his bathroom, ridding himself of his shirt. He needed a shower. However, before he could even get to the bathroom, another message written in the same handwriting faded into his skin.

It would seem so.

Another message soon faded in.

And you really need to work on your handwriting.

Naruto briefly forgot about how his breath was sucked out of his lungs when his suspicions were confirmed due to the insult. He absentmindedly glared at his skin, shuffling around for the sharpe he previously threw to some obscure corner of his room. Once he found it, he went to the bathroom. He quickly shot back a response.

Shut up, bastard! My handwriting is just fine.

A reply was quick to appear, I can see that you’re not a morning person.

Naruto scoffed to the empty air of his bathroom. Just who did this person think they were? He wrote down his response so hard, the tip of the sharpie actually scraped him a few times.

What’s that supposed to mean?

The conversation went on for a few minutes longer before the stranger said that they had to go. By the time the chat ended, Naruto’s forearm was covered in two vastly different handwritings. He set down the sharpie on the sink and went to go take his shower. Hopefully, he could scrub off most of the ink before he had to go to classes.

As Naruto turned on the water to the shower head, the realization hit him hard, like a tidal wave.

He had a fucking soulmate.


Sasuke Uchiha didn’t think that the soulmate talk was true. In fact, he thought it was absolute bullshit spewing from everyone’s mouths. How he was managed to be convinced to go through with Suigetsu’s dumbass plan, he’ll never know. The thought of finding something as precious as a soulmate that easily was ridiculous. Imagine it being that simple. The concept of writing on your own skin to lead you to your soulmate was an impossible one. It wasn’t realistic. It was too easy. Love could never be that simple to find. Besides, he was an Uchiha; he didn’t need a soulmate to be happy. He was completely content with his life being single.

He was happy being alone forever. He was fine with no love life whatsoever. He was perfectly happy with that.

The noirette deeply sighed to himself and strided into his bedroom with his bag in hand. He was tired as fuck. He set down his bag on the floor next to his chair. He sat himself down in his swivel chair at his desk while trying to do something to distract himself from the soulmate situation he was being forced to go through with. Damn Suigetsu to Hell.

He said all of this before to Suigetsu, to himself, to everyone who asked him about his love life a million times. He was perfectly content with being single and not having any kind of love in his life. No soulmate was necessary for his success.

He needed no one.

No one needed him.

He was happy with being alone.

Sasuke sighed again, shaking away all the doubts in his head and quickly grabbing the nearest writing tool (which happened to be a black sharpie). He quickly wrote down a message on his left wrist.

I don’t know if this soulmate thing works, but write back if does.

He stared at his handwriting for a quick moment or two, just to make sure there weren’t any errors and everything was legible. The realization had finally hit him, and his brain caught up with him after he gave his sentence a proofread. He couldn’t believe he just followed Suigetsu’s dumbass plan. He just played right into his hands. There was no way he could have a soulmate. Even if he had one, he couldn’t ever find them just by writing down something on his wrist.

Despite chastising himself over it, he couldn’t deny the fact that there was a small sliver of himself that wanted there to be a message waiting for him when he went to bed that night.