Four.

Picture this: a petite brunette wearing a long-sleeved black t-shirt, a blue and grey plaid kilt, black tights and boots. She takes a look around her new bedroom the size of a cell and attempts to scrub the mascara tracks off of her cheeks. There is a threat of snow in the air as she stares out of her darkened window to a view she cannot see. She walks through the unfamiliar kitchen, taking in the absolute mess and inhaling the scent of sautéing vegetables. She stops, suddenly shy.

Picture this: a tall, redheaded male wearing a white t-shirt and jeans, sautéing vegetables in a tiny kitchen. He takes her in with those unblinking eyes of his, reading her soul with a simple gaze. And they talk. They make polite conversation, neither of them knowing that within 24 hours, she’ll find herself with him and a bass guitar at three in the morning, shivering from cold but also anticipation. And he doesn’t know, as he stares at her lips, that these lips will be the ones that he cannot stop thinking about kissing.

Picture this: the universe letting out an inaudible sigh of relief, as it has finally placed these two individuals into each other’s paths. It squares its shoulders, ready to take on their journey of ebb and flow, of running and chasing, of separation and togetherness. But it is ready, even if they aren’t. It is ready to help make them ready. But they don’t know this yet. They won’t know this for awhile. It smirks as it waits for them to realise their inevitability, that they cannot fight each other, that they were created together with the other one in mind.

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