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Jaxon had lived with a ghost in his chest for as long as he could remember.
It was not a voice. Not a face. Not a name written on the inside of his wrist, not a matching mark, not some dramatic prophecy.
It was a feeling.
A weight that was not his, that settled behind his ribs like rainclouds refusing to move on. It came and went in waves, sometimes faint enough to ignore, sometimes sharp enough to steal his breath in the middle of a laugh.
Sadness, always.
Not his sadness. Not really.
Jaxon had spent years learning the difference.
When he was little, he thought everyone carried that kind of ache. He thought it was normal to be eating something sweet and suddenly taste bitterness. He thought it was normal to be excited for a battle and then, for no reason at all, want to apologize to someone he had never met.
Then he got older.
He heard people talk.
Soulmates.
The word had been tossed around like a joke at first, something older bladers teased rookies about, something influencers posted about with dramatic music and fake tears. But then Jaxon started listening harder, and he realized people spoke about it the way they spoke about gravity. Like it was a law of the universe.
Two souls. One thread. Shared emotions. Shared resonance.
Some people met early and grew up with their other half like it was the most ordinary thing in the world. Some people never met and spent their lives chasing a feeling they could not catch.
Jaxon had made a decision when he was seven years old.
He would not be the second kind.
He would find her.
Because it had to be a her, right?
Jaxon did not know why he was so certain, only that the universe had planted the belief in him as firmly as it planted hunger in his stomach. He pictured soft laughter. He pictured warm hands. He pictured someone who was tired of being sad and who would finally, finally feel safe once he found her.
And Jaxon would fix it.
He was good at fixing things.
He fixed launches by practicing until the motion lived in his bones. He fixed battles by learning what opponents feared and what they loved. He fixed broken confidence with a grin so bright people forgot they had been shaking.
So when the ache rolled through him again, heavier than usual, he stared at the ceiling of Pendragon’s practice room and decided the top of The X was not enough.
If he stayed champion, he would still have the ghost.
If he climbed, if he fought, if he met bladers from every floor and every tower and every corner of Xenon City, eventually he would find the one person who carried that sadness for real.
He would see her.
And the ghost would turn into someone’s eyes.
The night he left Pendragon, the sadness hit so hard his knees nearly buckled on the street outside the stadium. It was sudden and raw, the kind that made your throat close and your eyes burn even when you had nothing to cry about.
Jaxon pressed a hand to his chest, breathing through it.
“It’s okay,” he told the night, quietly, because he did not know who else to tell. “I’m coming. I’m looking. I promise.”
Far away, someone he had never met swallowed down a sob and forced a smile in a city that did not yet know his name.
Robin Kazami’s life looked bright from the outside.
He was the kind of boy people remembered. Loud in the best way, enthusiastic, always moving like a spark. He made friends easily. He joked with strangers. He held onto hope like it was a real object he could keep in his pocket.
He also worked harder than anyone he knew.
Not the kind of “hard work” people liked to talk about in speeches, like it was a simple thing. Robin’s hard work was the kind that made his shoulders ache from launching until his fingers cramped. The kind that made him study footage until his eyes blurred. The kind that made him practice one move until his mind went numb.
He did it because he had to.
Raw talent was a cruel thing.
Some bladers had it like a birthright. They walked into an arena and the air changed around them. They laughed at pressure because pressure fed them.
Robin did not have that.
Robin had stubbornness. Robin had grit. Robin had a heart that refused to stop beating even when it felt like it was being stomped.
His old team had been undefeated back home. They had won district tournaments. People had called them the future.
Then they came to Xenon City, and the future swallowed them whole.
Robin’s first real taste of pro-level blading was not inspiring. It was humiliating. It was the sound of his Bey cracking under someone else’s strength. It was his hands shaking as he stared at shattered pieces like they were the remains of a dream he had carried too far.
He smiled anyway.
He smiled because if he did not, he would break.
He smiled because Suzaki and Tsuru were watching, and Robin had been the leader, and leaders did not fall apart in front of their team.
He smiled because the world expected it.
That night, alone in the tiny room they had rented, Robin finally let himself curl forward with his head in his hands.
And that was when the warmth came.
Not warmth in the air. Warmth in his chest.
A gentle, ridiculous kind of happiness that brushed against his sorrow like a hand wiping tears off his cheek.
It was not his happiness. It was too sudden, too bright, like someone out there had just found something they loved and was savoring it with their whole soul.
Robin blinked hard, confused, breath hitching.
The happiness lingered, soothing, like a blanket dropped over his shoulders. It did not fix his shattered Bey. It did not change the fact that he had failed today.
But it made it bearable.
Robin exhaled shakily.
“Thanks,” he whispered into the dark, because he did not know who else to thank.
He had known about the soulmate thing for years. Everyone did. But he had never believed he would be lucky enough to have it. Or unlucky enough, depending on how you looked at it.
People said the bond made you stronger. People also said it made you vulnerable.
All Robin knew was that whenever the sadness became too much, his soulmate’s emotions touched his, and for a few precious moments, the world stopped feeling like it was crushing him.
Most of the time, his soulmate felt happy. Not constant, not fake, but steady. Like someone who had decided life was worth smiling at.
There had been a period, months ago, where that happiness had dipped. Robin remembered it clearly: a heavy, restless feeling, like pacing in a room without doors. Determination. Frustration. A kind of loneliness that had made Robin sit up in bed and stare at the ceiling, feeling like he was sharing a heartbeat with someone who had nowhere to put their hope.
Then, recently, it had perked up again.
Bright. Focused. Hungry.
It felt like someone moving.
It felt like someone searching.
Robin’s chest ached at the thought.
Somewhere out there, someone was looking for him.
Robin did not know what to do with that.
He only knew he could not afford another disappointment, so he shoved his fear down and smiled the next morning like nothing was wrong.
They met in a hallway that smelled like metal and adrenaline.
Robin had been wandering Xenon City in a daze, clutching the case that now held a broken memory. He had been too ashamed to go back to Suzaki and Tsuru and admit how badly things had gone. Too stubborn to admit defeat. Too terrified to hear the quiet disappointment he was sure would live behind their eyes.
He turned a corner and nearly collided with someone moving the opposite direction with the kind of speed that made it look effortless.
A boy in a mask.
Not a small, neat mask like a costume. A full, bold thing that screamed confidence. The kind of mask that made people turn and whisper.
The boy caught Robin by the shoulders to steady him, fingers firm but not harsh.
“Hey,” the masked boy said, voice bright with amusement. “Watch where you’re flying.”
“I’m not flying,” Robin blurted, because his brain chose violence in the form of stupidity whenever he was embarrassed.
The masked boy laughed like Robin had said something brilliant.
“That’s what makes it funny.”
Robin stared. The masked boy’s presence was too loud for the hallway. Like a spotlight. Like a stadium. Like a battle about to start.
Then, without warning, warmth slammed into Robin’s chest.
Happiness. Pure, stupid happiness.
So strong it made Robin’s eyes widen.
He knew this feeling.
He knew it the way you knew your own name.
His soulmate’s happiness, sudden and intense, flooding through him as if the bond had just been yanked tight.
Robin froze.
The masked boy tilted his head.
“You okay?” he asked, still grinning. “You look like you just got hit with an Extreme Dash.”
Robin opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because the bond did not just bring happiness. It carried impressions, too. It carried the shape of emotions, the edge of them, the reason behind them.
This happiness was new and sharp and… curious.
Like someone had just found something interesting.
Like someone had just found someone.
Robin’s heart started pounding.
No. No way. Not here, not now, not with him standing there in a mask and looking at Robin like Robin was a joke he wanted to keep.
The masked boy leaned closer.
“You’re really pale,” he observed. “Did you lose a battle?”
Robin flinched.
“Not your business,” he snapped, then immediately hated himself for it.
The boy did not look offended. If anything, he looked more interested.
“I like stubborn,” he said cheerfully. “What’s your name?”
Robin hesitated.
“Robin,” he said finally, because lying felt impossible with that warmth still buzzing in his chest.
The masked boy made a sound like he approved.
“Robin. Cool. I’m Blader X.”
Robin blinked.
Blader X.
The name that had been spreading like wildfire through Xenon City. The masked challenger climbing towers like he owned the entire city. The one people said was insane, unstoppable, ridiculous.
The one people said had left a champion team just to fight stronger opponents.
Robin’s mouth went dry.
“You’re him.”
“Yeah,” Blader X said, like it was nothing. Like it was normal to be a legend in a hallway. “And you’re you. Want to join my team?”
Robin stared harder.
“What?”
Blader X hooked a thumb toward the practice arena behind him.
“I need a team,” he said, casually. “You look like you need one too.”
Robin’s stomach twisted.
He did need one. His old one was unraveling. His Bey was destroyed. His dream was bleeding out on the floor.
But this was Blader X.
This was the kind of person people like Robin watched from the stands and admired from a safe distance.
“You don’t even know me,” Robin whispered.
Blader X’s grin widened.
“That’s the fun part.”
Robin felt happiness pulse again, like a laugh caught in a throat.
It was his soulmate’s happiness.
It was coming from the boy in front of him.
Robin’s world tilted.
Jaxon Cross liked Robin immediately.
Not because Robin was strong. Robin was not, at least not yet. Robin’s stance was slightly off. His shoulders carried tension that would slow his launch. His eyes darted too often, scanning for approval.
But Robin had something else.
A refusal to give up.
Jaxon had seen it in the way Robin snapped back after being startled, the way Robin’s mouth tightened when asked about losing, the way Robin’s hands curled like he was ready to fight the entire city if he had to.
Jaxon loved fighters.
So he pulled Robin into his orbit without thinking twice.
That was what Jaxon did. He saw someone interesting and he claimed them as part of his story.
Robin followed, half stunned, half desperate.
They formed the beginnings of Persona in a blur of training sessions and loud conversations and Robin trying to act like he was not having an internal meltdown every time Jaxon laughed.
Jaxon was… a lot.
He was reckless, bright, terrifyingly confident. He treated Beyblade like it was the only language worth speaking, like battles were not just competitions but conversations. He praised Robin’s tiny improvements like they were world-shaking. He pushed Robin hard, not with cruelty, but with a belief that Robin could take it.
Robin wanted to believe him.
Robin also wanted to throw up whenever he felt that happiness flare through the bond, because it kept happening. Every time Jaxon did something simple, something stupid, something pure.
When Jaxon wolfed down convenience store onigiri like it was sacred.
When Jaxon watched a launch and his eyes lit up, delighted by the technique.
When Jaxon talked about climbing The X again and his voice carried hunger and excitement and something softer underneath, something that felt like longing.
It was all soulmate emotion.
It was all Jaxon.
Robin spent two days trying to convince himself he was wrong.
Then Multi Nana-iro entered their lives like a storm with a camera.
She was famous, which Robin realized only after she shoved a phone in his face and asked him to say something “inspiring” for her followers. Robin nearly choked.
Jaxon beat her in a pro debut match and then invited her to join their team like he was inviting her to go get ice cream. Multi blinked at him for several long seconds, then shrugged and accepted like it was a dare she wanted to take.
Robin did not know what he had expected the future to feel like.
He had not expected it to feel like standing between a living legend and a chaotic influencer while his soulmate bond screamed, yes, yes, yes, this is him.
Persona got a sponsor in Komaba Sushi, which made Robin’s life both better and worse.
Better, because it meant they were real. Pro-level real. Their dream had a platform under it now.
Worse, because Robin took one look at the sponsor’s name and thought, of course. Of course the universe would choose the one thing he was actually good at besides refusing to quit.
Cooking.
He started making sushi whenever he could.
It was his way of contributing something that was not “losing another battle.”
The first time he laid out a neat platter for Persona, Jaxon reacted like Robin had just handed him the meaning of life.
His eyes went wide. His grin went feral. He hovered like a delighted shark.
“Robin,” Jaxon breathed, reverent, and Robin’s soulmate bond detonated with happiness so bright Robin nearly dropped the plate.
Multi watched them both, eyebrows rising.
“Wow,” she said, deadpan. “Is this a food thing or a feelings thing?”
“It’s sushi,” Jaxon declared, grabbing a piece and shoving it into his mouth. “It’s perfect. It’s art. It’s destiny.”
Robin’s hands went warm.
Jaxon chewed, eyes practically sparkling.
Robin felt every bit of that joy in his own chest, like it belonged there.
He tried to laugh it off.
But it happened again.
And again.
Every time Jaxon ate sushi, Robin’s bond lit up like fireworks.
It matched up one too many times.
Robin started keeping a mental count.
And the count turned into certainty.
The problem was that Jaxon kept calling his soulmate “she.”
It happened casually at first.
In the middle of training, Jaxon would pause, stare at nothing, and then say, “She’s sad again.”
Robin would freeze mid-launch.
Jaxon would not notice. Jaxon never noticed when he should.
“I can feel it,” Jaxon would continue, voice soft in a way Robin rarely heard from him. “I don’t know where she is, but… she’s trying to be brave. That’s cool.”
Robin’s chest would ache.
Because Jaxon was talking about Robin.
Jaxon was feeling Robin’s sadness, the heavy secret he carried under every smile.
And Jaxon was calling him “she.”
Robin tried to tell himself it did not matter. Pronouns were just assumptions. Jaxon did not know. Jaxon was guessing.
But then Jaxon started making plans out loud.
“When I find her,” he said one night, stretching on the floor of their tiny sponsor-provided apartment, “I’m going to take her to eat sushi. Like real sushi. Not just this sponsor stuff. Like the best in the city.”
“This sponsor stuff is real sushi,” Robin muttered automatically, because he was incapable of letting Jaxon insult his craft even by accident.
Jaxon laughed.
“You know what I mean. Like… I want her to taste something and smile so hard it hurts.”
Robin went still.
Jaxon’s gaze drifted toward the ceiling, dreamy.
“I’ve been waiting forever,” he admitted, quietly. “Sometimes I feel her sadness and I think, what if she thinks she’s alone? What if she thinks nobody cares? I hate that. I want to fix it.”
Robin stared at him.
Jaxon’s face looked younger without the battle grin, without the mask, without the constant motion. His eyes held something dangerously sincere.
Robin’s throat tightened.
He wanted to say, I’m right here.
He wanted to say, you’re already fixing it.
Instead, he heard his own fear speak first.
“What if,” Robin said slowly, forcing his voice to stay casual, “your soulmate doesn’t want to be found?”
Jaxon blinked at him like the question was nonsense.
“Why wouldn’t she?”
Robin’s laugh came out wrong.
“People can reject their soulmates,” he said, and immediately regretted bringing it up.
Multi, who had been sitting on the couch scrolling through her phone, glanced up.
“Oh,” she said, interested. “You mean the second chance thing? That super rare one?”
Robin’s stomach dropped.
Jaxon frowned.
“That’s not real,” he said.
“It is real,” Multi replied, matter-of-fact. “It’s just statistically ridiculous. Like 0.0001% or something. Usually only happens if someone dies. Sometimes if there’s a rejection.”
Robin’s fingers clenched.
Jaxon stared at Multi.
“So the universe would just… assign you a new soulmate?”
Multi shrugged.
“Apparently. People on the internet argue about it all the time.”
Jaxon’s jaw tightened.
“That’s messed up,” he said, voice sharp.
Robin’s heart twisted, because for a second he thought, good. Good. That means he won’t.
Then Jaxon added, quieter, “But if my soulmate rejected me… I’d want her to be happy anyway.”
Robin swallowed.
Because Jaxon said it like it was obvious.
Because Jaxon said it like he loved his soulmate already.
Which meant Jaxon loved Robin.
Which meant Robin was standing in the middle of a miracle and still managed to feel like it would be taken away.
Jaxon rolled onto his side and looked at Robin, expression determined again.
“It won’t matter,” he said. “I’ll find her. I’m lucky. I always get what I want in a battle.”
Robin flinched at the word lucky.
Because Jaxon said it like a promise.
Because Robin heard it like a threat.
If Jaxon was lucky, then maybe the universe would give him what he wanted.
A girl.
A soulmate he had imagined his whole life.
Not Robin.
Robin forced a smile and looked away.
“Yeah,” he said, voice too light. “You’re lucky.”
Multi watched him for a long moment, then went back to her phone with the kind of quiet that felt like judgment.
Jaxon’s obsession with “her” got worse as Persona climbed.
It started to bleed into everything.
Every time Robin’s sadness spiked, Jaxon would whip his head around like he could spot it in the air. He would stare at the nearest group of people, scanning faces.
Sometimes he would pick a random girl in the crowd and step forward, serious.
“Hey,” he’d say. “Are you okay?”
The girl would blink, startled, then either laugh or look confused.
Robin would stand behind Jaxon, dying inside.
“No,” Robin would whisper under his breath, because he had no idea who he was talking to, but he knew it was not her. “No, no, no.”
The worst part was that Jaxon was not doing it to be cruel. He was doing it because he genuinely cared.
Robin should have found it cute.
Robin found it unbearable.
It was like watching someone search for a missing star while standing directly under its light.
One afternoon, they were in a convenience store after training. Jaxon grabbed a cheap sushi pack anyway, because Jaxon was incapable of walking past rice and fish without treating it like a personal challenge.
He ate standing up, humming around the bite.
Robin felt the happiness, huge and warm, and he almost smiled automatically.
Jaxon’s eyes lit up.
He turned and pointed with his chopsticks toward a girl near the drink aisle.
“Her,” he whispered, intense.
Robin choked.
“What?”
“Did you feel that?” Jaxon demanded, eyes wide. “My soulmate. She got happy just now.”
Robin stared at him.
Robin stared at the girl, who was just… picking a soda.
Robin stared back at Jaxon.
“Maybe she just likes soda,” Robin said weakly.
Jaxon frowned.
“No, it was the bond,” he insisted. “I can tell.”
Robin’s hands shook.
It was the bond.
It was just not her.
Robin swallowed hard.
Jaxon stepped toward the girl, like he was about to confess his soul in the middle of a convenience store.
Multi, who had been watching from behind a shelf with the expression of someone about to witness a train wreck, reached out and grabbed the back of Jaxon’s shirt.
“No,” she said, flat.
Jaxon looked back, offended.
“But Multi, what if it’s her?”
Multi’s eyes flicked to Robin, then back to Jaxon.
“If it’s her,” Multi said slowly, like explaining something to a child, “she will not want to meet you while you are holding gas station sushi like it’s a bouquet.”
Jaxon hesitated.
Robin hated that Multi’s logic worked better than Robin’s panic ever did.
Jaxon huffed, dramatic.
“Fine,” he said, letting Multi drag him away. “But I’m telling you, it matched.”
Robin followed them out of the store, chest tight.
Because it had matched.
Because Robin had felt that happiness.
Because Robin’s soulmate was chewing sushi like it was holy.
Because Robin was walking next to him, invisible.
Robin’s breaking point came during a loss.
It was not a dramatic loss. Not a catastrophic one. Just another match where Robin worked himself raw and still came up short.
He smiled through it like he always did.
He thanked the crowd. He congratulated the opponent. He made a joke for the cameras.
Then he walked backstage, found an empty hallway, and finally let his shoulders slump.
The sadness hit him so hard he doubled over.
It was the familiar ache, the voice in his head that hissed, you can’t outshine talent. You can’t meet expectations. You can’t keep up. You are holding them back.
Robin pressed a hand over his mouth to keep himself silent.
The next breath was shaky.
The next was worse.
He did not hear footsteps until Jaxon was right in front of him.
Jaxon’s eyes were wide, alarmed.
“Robin,” Jaxon said.
Robin tried to straighten.
“I’m fine,” he lied, voice cracking.
Jaxon’s expression hardened with something like fury.
“No, you’re not,” he snapped. “I felt it. I felt you falling apart.”
Robin froze.
Because Jaxon had never said it like that before.
Jaxon swallowed, breathing hard, like he was trying to outrun the bond.
“It’s her,” Jaxon whispered, voice shaking with frustration. “My soulmate. She’s so sad and I can’t find her and it’s driving me insane.”
Robin stared at him.
Something inside Robin went cold.
Jaxon looked away, jaw clenched.
“I thought,” Jaxon admitted, suddenly, “I thought maybe it was… someone else once.”
Robin’s heart stuttered.
“What?” Robin managed.
Jaxon’s face twisted like he hated the memory.
“Khrome,” he said.
Robin’s blood turned to ice.
Jaxon ran a hand through his hair, agitated.
“It was stupid,” Jaxon said quickly. “Like, for two seconds. I felt something intense, and he was there, and I thought, what if the bond is leading me to him? What if I’ve been wrong?”
Robin’s throat went dry.
Jaxon’s voice dropped, bitter.
“And then I realized it couldn’t be. Not him. Not with how he is. The way he looks at battles like they’re a war. The way he… he’s obsessed. It freaked me out.”
Robin’s chest hurt.
Because Jaxon was not saying, it can’t be a boy.
Jaxon was saying, it can’t be Khrome.
But Robin’s brain did not care about logic.
Robin only heard: it haunts me that I thought that boy could be my soulmate.
Robin swallowed hard, vision blurring.
Jaxon exhaled sharply.
“I don’t want to be wrong,” Jaxon said, quietly. “I don’t want my soulmate to be someone who makes me feel like that. I want her to be… good. I want her to be happy.”
Robin’s hands clenched.
A laugh bubbled up in his throat, hysterical and painful.
Because Jaxon was right.
Jaxon deserved a soulmate who was happy.
And Robin was not.
Robin was a mess held together by stubbornness and borrowed warmth.
Robin looked down.
“I’m going to wash up,” Robin said, voice flat, and brushed past Jaxon before Jaxon could stop him.
Jaxon reached out instinctively, fingers catching Robin’s sleeve.
Robin flinched at the contact.
Jaxon’s touch sent a shock through the bond. Confusion. Concern. A sharp flash of affection that made Robin’s stomach twist.
Robin yanked his sleeve free.
Jaxon stared at him, wounded.
“Robin,” Jaxon said again, softer.
Robin did not trust himself to answer.
He walked away before his face could betray him.
Behind him, Jaxon’s worry followed like a tether.
In Robin’s chest, Jaxon’s feelings tangled with his own until Robin could not tell where one ended and the other began.
That night, Robin made sushi because he did not know what else to do with himself.
He moved through it on autopilot. Rice. Vinegar. Knife against cutting board. The repetition was calming. The precision was something he could control.
Multi hovered nearby, unusually quiet.
After a while, she spoke.
“You’re doing the thing where you look like you’re smiling even when you’re not,” she said.
Robin’s hands paused.
“That’s just my face,” he lied automatically.
Multi snorted.
“Sure.”
Robin kept slicing.
Multi watched him for another minute, then leaned back against the counter.
“You know he’s an idiot,” she said.
Robin’s jaw tightened.
“I know.”
“He’s also not the kind of idiot who would reject someone for something they can’t control,” Multi continued. “Including who their soulmate is.”
Robin swallowed.
“You don’t know that.”
Multi’s eyes narrowed.
“I know Jaxon,” she said simply. “He left Pendragon because the top wasn’t enough. You think he’s going to turn around and say no to the one thing he’s been chasing his whole life just because it doesn’t match the picture in his head?”
Robin’s throat burned.
“He keeps saying she,” Robin whispered.
Multi tilted her head.
“And you keep assuming that means you’re not allowed to be his soulmate.”
Robin flinched.
Multi stepped closer, voice softer.
“Robin,” she said, “you feel his emotions. You know what he feels when you’re sad.”
Robin’s hands trembled.
He knew.
Jaxon felt angry, not at Robin, but at the universe. Jaxon felt helpless. Jaxon felt love, raw and stubborn, the kind that refused to be logical.
It was terrifying.
Robin stared down at the sushi roll in his hands.
“There’s a second chance thing,” Robin whispered, voice shaking. “What if he… what if he rejects me because he thinks he can get lucky and get what he wanted?”
Multi looked at him like Robin had just said something deeply stupid.
“Have you met him?” she asked.
Robin let out a weak, broken laugh.
Multi’s expression softened.
“I’m not saying it won’t be messy,” she admitted. “But you’re not doing anyone favors by suffering in silence. Least of all yourself.”
Robin’s chest tightened.
He finished the plate. He set it on the table. He stared at it like it held an answer.
Then the front door opened, and Jaxon walked in.
He looked exhausted. Not physically. Emotionally.
His eyes snapped to Robin immediately.
The bond flared.
Relief, sharp and sudden.
Robin’s breath caught.
Jaxon froze when he saw the sushi.
Hope burst through him like sunlight.
Robin felt it and almost hated how easily his own heart responded.
Jaxon took one step forward, then stopped, like he was afraid Robin would disappear.
“Hey,” Jaxon said, voice careful.
Robin swallowed.
“Hey,” he replied.
Jaxon’s gaze flicked to Multi.
Multi held up both hands.
“I’m going to be anywhere else,” she announced, and walked out with the exaggerated confidence of someone pretending she was not absolutely eavesdropping from the hallway.
The apartment went quiet.
Jaxon stared at Robin for a long moment.
Then he took a breath, like preparing to launch.
“Earlier,” he said. “I messed up.”
Robin’s chest tightened.
Jaxon stepped closer.
“I said stuff about my soulmate,” he continued. “And Khrome. And… I think I made you uncomfortable.”
Robin tried to look away.
Jaxon reached out, slow, giving Robin time to pull back.
Robin did not.
Jaxon’s fingers brushed Robin’s wrist, gentle.
The bond snapped taut.
Warmth flooded Robin’s chest. Not sushi-happiness. Something deeper.
Affection.
Recognition.
Jaxon’s eyes widened.
Robin’s breath hitched.
Jaxon’s hand tightened slightly, like he was holding onto something fragile.
“Robin,” Jaxon whispered, and his voice sounded different now. Like he had finally heard a note that had been playing under everything.
Robin’s throat burned.
Jaxon’s gaze drifted over Robin’s face, searching.
“Your sadness,” Jaxon said slowly. “It’s… it’s always been right here.”
Robin’s heart hammered.
Jaxon’s expression shifted, confusion cracking open into something like horror.
“No,” Jaxon whispered. “No, that doesn’t… but I thought…”
Robin’s vision blurred.
“I know what you thought,” Robin said, voice shaking. “You keep saying she. You keep looking for her. And I kept thinking… maybe you knew. Maybe you were trying to reject me.”
Jaxon’s eyes went wide.
“What?” he blurted, genuinely stunned.
Robin laughed weakly, because of course Jaxon had not been trying to do anything subtle in his life.
Robin wiped at his eyes angrily.
“The second chance thing,” Robin said. “It’s rare, but it exists. And you’re lucky, Jaxon. You always get what you want. So I thought… maybe you’d reject me and the universe would give you a girl soulmate instead. Someone you wanted. Someone you deserved.”
Jaxon stared at him like Robin had spoken a foreign language.
Then Jaxon’s face twisted, hurt and furious all at once.
“Robin,” he said, voice sharp, “why would I reject you?”
Robin flinched.
“Because I’m not…” Robin swallowed hard. “I’m not what you pictured.”
Jaxon’s jaw clenched.
“I pictured someone sad,” Jaxon said, voice breaking with emotion. “Someone brave enough to keep going anyway. Someone who needed someone to care. That’s what I pictured.”
Robin’s breath caught.
Jaxon’s grip on Robin’s wrist tightened, not painful, just desperate.
“And you,” Jaxon continued, voice rough, “you’ve been right next to me. You’ve been feeding me sushi and smiling like you’re fine when you’re not. And I’ve been out here bothering random girls in convenience stores like an idiot.”
Robin’s laugh came out wet.
Jaxon’s eyes flicked down, then back up, as if the last piece was falling into place.
“She,” Jaxon whispered, and then he looked horrified again. “I kept saying she.”
Robin’s chest ached.
Jaxon shook his head hard.
“That’s… that’s on me,” he said, voice thick. “I assumed. I never even… I never considered it could be you because I never let myself consider it could be a he.”
Robin’s stomach dropped.
Jaxon saw the shift on Robin’s face and panicked immediately.
“No,” he said quickly. “Not because you’re a he. Not because that’s wrong. I just… I built this picture in my head when I was a kid. I was so sure. And then I met you and I liked you and that scared me because it was real and I didn’t want to be wrong and I didn’t want to mess it up.”
Robin swallowed hard.
Jaxon’s voice went quieter.
“The Khrome thing,” he said. “That wasn’t about him being a boy. That was about him being Khrome. He makes my skin crawl sometimes. I hated that I ever thought the bond could point to someone like that.”
Robin’s eyes stung.
“So you don’t… you don’t hate the idea of a boy soulmate?” Robin asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Jaxon stared at him like the question itself was an injury.
“I hate the idea of you thinking you’re not enough,” he said fiercely.
Robin’s breath shook.
Jaxon’s expression softened, the fierceness melting into something painfully tender.
“I’ve loved my soulmate my whole life,” Jaxon said quietly. “I just didn’t know his name.”
Robin’s heart cracked open.
Jaxon’s thumb brushed over Robin’s wrist again, grounding.
“I’m sorry,” Jaxon whispered. “For making you feel like you had to disappear so I could get what I wanted.”
Robin swallowed, tears slipping free despite his attempt to be tough.
“What if you still want the picture?” Robin whispered. “What if you still want a girl?”
Jaxon’s eyes flashed.
“I want you,” he said, simple and absolute.
The bond surged with certainty, so strong Robin felt dizzy.
Jaxon exhaled, forehead leaning forward until it rested gently against Robin’s.
Robin froze.
Jaxon’s voice was softer than Robin had ever heard it.
“Let me fix it,” Jaxon whispered.
Robin let out a shaky laugh.
“You can’t fix… me.”
Jaxon’s mouth twitched.
“Sure I can,” he said. “I’m Jaxon. I fix everything.”
Robin laughed harder, because it was stupid, because it was Jaxon, because it was hope.
Jaxon smiled, relief flooding through the bond so warm Robin wanted to sink into it forever.
“Start with sushi,” Robin muttered, voice thick, and gestured weakly toward the plate.
Jaxon’s grin returned full force, immediate and bright.
“You’re speaking my language,” he declared, and grabbed a piece.
Robin felt the happiness explode again, familiar and ridiculous, and this time, instead of panic, it made Robin’s chest feel light.
Because now he knew.
Now it was not a ghost.
It was Jaxon, chewing like the world was good, and Robin feeling it like the world was good too.
Jaxon paused mid-bite, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
“You know,” he said around the sushi, “this means every time I thought my soulmate was a random girl in public, I was actually just feeling you.”
Robin’s face went hot.
“Please never say that sentence again,” Robin begged.
Jaxon laughed, delighted, and Robin felt it and laughed too, because the bond made it impossible not to.
Multi’s voice drifted from the hallway.
“So,” she called, far too smug, “are we done being dramatic now?”
Jaxon called back, mouth full, “No!”
Robin covered his face with both hands, mortified.
Jaxon leaned in and bumped his shoulder against Robin’s, affectionate and careless.
“Get used to it,” Jaxon said, cheerful. “We’re soulmates. Dramatic is our brand.”
Robin peeked at him through his fingers.
Jaxon’s eyes were bright, earnest.
“Also,” Jaxon added, voice dropping just enough to make Robin’s pulse jump, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Robin’s throat tightened.
“Yeah?” he whispered.
Jaxon nodded, serious for once.
“Yeah,” he said. “You don’t have to carry that sadness alone anymore. Not ever.”
Robin closed his eyes.
The ache was still there, because life did not change in one moment. Expectations did not disappear. Talent did not magically appear in Robin’s hands.
But the sadness no longer felt like a private collapse.
It felt like something shared.
It felt like something survivable.
Robin leaned forward, resting his forehead against Jaxon’s again.
“Okay,” he whispered.
Jaxon’s smile pressed warm against the bond.
“Okay,” he echoed, and for the first time in Robin’s life, the happiness that filled his chest felt like it belonged there.
Outside, Xenon City kept spinning. Towers kept rising. Battles waited.
Inside, Robin finally let himself believe that being found did not mean being replaced.
And Jaxon, who had spent his whole life chasing a ghost, finally realized the universe had not been cruel.
It had just been waiting for him to look at the boy standing next to him and see the soul he had been holding all along.