The scribbles written on the inside of his wrist teased Tobey like a schoolboy trying to get a cute girl to notice him.
They were angular and boxy, with dashes and dots strewn about the lines. The scribbles were written on his wrist with a sort of timid shyness—as if this was the first time the indecipherable scrawls were written. Whatever the case, Tobey was not amused when these mad scribbles of whatever this person was trying to write had somehow appeared on his wrist right in the middle of his lecture.
He had been busy ruffling notes and pointing to his presentation when his left wrist began to tingle. It wasn't painful or terribly itchy. It was something akin to that static-y feeling one would feel if they had lain on a limb for too long.
A bit frazzled by the unblinking stares from his audience, the blond had paid it no mind.
That was a bad idea.
Even the lightest sensation could bring forth the power of a migraine or a headache. What had been something as light as an ant crawling up and down the inside of his wrist quickly morphed into a number of hot pokers trying to drive their way out of the prison of his flesh. With a forced apology and promises to finish his presentation next class, Tobey ran out of the lecture hall (almost bowling over a lovely brunette) and fell to a stop inside a male restroom.
That was when he observed his arm and found himself shaking in a mixture of terror and fury.
His soulmate's name was virtually unreadable.