Since Curt was eight and first learned about soulmates, all he had wanted was to find his. He dreamed about finding the perfect person for him, the one that he could spend his life with. When he realized he liked guys, he was terrified, but if they were the one meant for him he believed that somehow it would work out. He believed in destiny. He had to believe in that. All he had to do was wait until he found the love of his life.
Curt didn’t know how to react when he finally got his mark. The words “Killing me won’t take the system offline, so what are you doing?” slowly appeared on his wrist in a messy scrawl when he was about 17. He hadn’t known what they had meant at that point, vague ideas of working for the government floating around his mind, but nothing concrete yet. His days were filled with hanging out with a few of his close friends, and trying to ignore thinking about the future as much as he could.
They always disturbed him though. What sort of future would he have where he was killing? He first dismissed the soulmate mark as having some odd meaning, some joke behind it.
When he turned 19, he bought a soft leather cuff that he wore on his wrist to cover the words, and tried to forget that he ever had a soulmate. As he got deeper into the Secret Service, he started to hope that he never would have anything to do with his soulmate.
He told everyone who dared to ask that his soulmate was dead, or that something had gone wrong. He didn’t want to find his soulmate, didn’t want to fall in love, not when the words that he had promised nothing but heartbreak.
One of his biggest flaws was always that he got attached too easily, loved too quickly. The first time that he met Owen Carvour, he hated him. Hated his smug attitude, the arrogance and confidence that he carried himself with, how his stupid hair was slicked back, the way his dark eyes seemed to sparkle in the soft golden light of the candles--
No. He wasn’t going there. Couldn’t go there. He hated Owen Carvour with all his being, and wished that he would never have to look at his stupid face ever again.
He was in love with the stupid British spy. He had tried to stop himself from falling in love, tried to shut himself away, but somewhere in between Owen’s murmured admissions of his greatest fears and his own breakdowns, in between the soft “i need you’s” and learning to rely on each other, both as a field partner and friend, he had fallen.
Curt was terrified. He was in far too deep to back out, or run away, but if Owen was his soulmate--
He didn’t want Owen to be his soulmate, because that would mean he would have to kill him. Several years later, after Owen had fallen, Curt thought back and realized that even though Owen wasn’t his soulmate, he still killed him. He supposed that it was his curse; anyone he loved would end up dead. Yet he still wished Owen was his soulmate, because that would mean that they were perfect partners, a perfect balance, the only one for the other. That even if their story wasn’t meant to be happy, they were always meant to find each other and be together.
He wished Owen was his soulmate, but knew that if he ever hurt him, it would kill him.
Owen Carvour never believed in soulmates, nor did he ever believe in destiny. “Taking your advice” . Strange words, he always thought. He occasionally wondered what they meant, but once he joined the British Secret Service he pushed all thoughts of soulmates out of his mind. He had a job, and a mission, and there was no point in wishing to find someone that he would inevitably lose. He wasn’t loveable anyways, he constantly reassured himself. There wouldn’t be anyone in the world for him.
Curt Mega was different from anyone Owen had ever known. Impulsive, wild, funny, and loving, he was a wildfire that burned down all of the walls that he had carefully constructed and left him vulnerable. Falling in love was weird. He didn’t really notice when he went from constant frustration at Curt’s recklessness to worry at his partner’s wellbeing. Didn’t notice when he went from silently patching him up to flitting around him lecturing him about watching his health and you have to be more careful, Curt, honestly you’re going to get yourself killed and you’re not allowed to do that, I’m the only one who will get to murder you for all the stress and panic you’ve put me through you idiot--
The first time they said “I love you”, he wondered about his soulmate mark. If he had a soulmate, it would be Curt. He knew that much. Maybe what he meant by “Taking your advice”, was learning to move on after Owen’s death when they were both old and grey. Maybe. He didn’t want to think about anything else it could mean.
Curt hated that when Owen fell the first time and was presumed dead, he lost the love of his life, but couldn’t even say that he was his soulmate. How could someone he loved so much, whose loss left him in a constant state of flux between a numb haze and burning agony at letting Owen down not be his soulmate. Curt really was the death of him, just like he was the death of everyone else he ever loved.
Owen was alive. And honestly, Chimera be damned, if Owen would run away with him, Curt would leave. He’d leave his mother, his job, his entire life behind. He could lose anything except Owen. He couldn’t deal with losing him, not again.
They say killing your soulmate kills a part of yourself. Curt felt the burst of sharp pain as he pulled the trigger and watched the love of his life collapse to the ground. He may have been the one to walk out of that facility, but they both died that day.