SOMEONE WRITE IT! Charles and Erik had a minor collision and fucking pan suggested its because its a soul bond thing and they realize its each other and then Charles’ bag of art supplies flies and he climbs out from his vespa wanting to pick it up and then proceed to scold the man off but then
yes and also making out right there on the cobbled ground.
They always said that finding your soulmate was never a concrete thing, that it could happen anywhere at any given time no matter what else was going on, that probability indicated that you could circle your soulmate in the same small town for a lifetime and never feel the sharp snap of the bond forming with the sweet song of finding your perfect other half sliding into place where they were always meant to be if you were never both in the exact right place at the exact right time.
Charles never paid much attention to the stories or the epic blockbusters regarding soulbonds, because it would either happen or it wouldn’t and he has much bigger things to be worrying about anyway, such as getting across town in time for his art class as he’s already running late and by now his students will be wondering.
At least, he’d held this belief right up until he takes a turn on his Vespa too fast right as a car is turning the same direction and he glances up in time to meet startled, gunmetal grey eyes and feels a sharp twinge that runs through his whole body before he promptly loses control of the bike and keels over, skidding several feet across the cobblestone.
The next few moments are disorientating and blurry, a wild mix of spinning sky and hey, those are his best colored pencils scattered everywhere from where his worn satchel has been upended, a few of his recent sketches fluttering in the breeze, but all of that diminishes instantly in importance as soon as running footsteps approach and two broad, long-fingered hands grip him by the shoulders, pulling his helmet off and then that same pair of eyes are peering into his.
“It’s you,” Charles says faintly, and is surprised. That’s not what he meant to say at all.
“I—yes,” is the answer, somewhat stunned, “it’s me. It’s you.”
They stare at each other, then, even where they sit in the middle of the intersection, all the rest of the traffic and people utterly forgotten. They should probably move. They should probably do something. But all Charles can do is look. This is him. This is his soulmate. Their bond hums between them, practically visible in this new closeness, alive and strong.
“We almost just killed each other,” Charles says, because that seems like the next most logical thing to say.
A snort. “I would have been fine. You, on the other hand.” The hands on his shoulders tighten a little, as if making sure he’s still actually there, unharmed and well. “I’m glad you were wearing a helmet.”
Charles laughs. “Me too.” Then he adds, “I’m Charles.”
“Erik,” his soulmate replies, eyes going a little soft around the edges, and he reaches up gently with one hand to trace the side of Charles’ face. Charles leans into the touch and it feels like coming home. “I’m glad to meet you, Charles.”
“And I you,” Charles whispers, and then curls his fingers through Erik’s short, soft hair and pulls him down into a kiss, only the first of many still to come.