in a universe where everyone is born with numbers on their wrists counting down to when they’ll meet their soulmate, send me 00:00:00 for my muse's reaction to their numbers hitting zero when they meet yours.
The bell rang signalling that class would be starting soon. Six minutes to get to Chemistry and find a seat where no one would bother him. Starting secondary was troublesome enough, he didn't want to have to deal with people on the first day too.
Adjusting his jacket, he didn't catch sight of the timer, which showed precariously small numbers, a precursor to the event to come. With a swift check of his book bag, he closed his locker and rushed off, remembering the route he'd drawn out on the map earlier.
When he got to the lab room, he found an empty table, settling in the left chair. If there was one thing he'd like about this class, it was that it was designed without right handed people specifically in mind, a table wouldn't impede his writing in the same way a desk would. Placing his notebooks on the table, he took off his jacket, slinging it across the chair, and began to scribble in the margins of his notebook, numbers and equations in fluid scrawl.
The bell rang, rousing Jim from his work and he smiled to himself, no one had sat beside him, all of the other people in the class finding either their friends or another empty table in search of solitude. He preferred it this way, working alone was his strong point, after all. Sitting up, he ran a hand through his hair, and simultaneously saw the time on his wrist, blinking in bright red.
Brown eyes widened as he looked around warily, it couldn't be anyone in the room, he remembered most of them from grammar school, and the rest didn't look obligated to introduce themselves anytime soon. Was it a fluke?
Just as the teacher began to speak, the door opened and a lanky boy tumbled in, panting and clutching his books to his chest.
"Sorry, couldn't find the classroom!"
The teacher sighed, telling the boy to find a desk quickly and quietly, he hadn't missed anything yet and class was just starting. And with the counter still going down, down, down on his wrist, Jim knew exactly where he'd be sitting down.
Swallowing with a suddenly dry mouth, Jim swiftly placed his hands under the table. If the other boy didn't see the number maybe he wouldn't say anything, maybe he wouldn't notice his own numbers counting down.
The sound of the other lab stool being pulled back caused Jim to look up from the surface of the table, a shy half-smile half-grimace on his face as he turned to the boy who probably had at least half a foot on him. And when he did, a throb of hot pain shot through his wrist, causing him to bite his lip to keep from wincing. Nope, it wasn't just going to go ignored.
"M'name's Jim... S'nice to.... meet you."
