Find a job you love. Of course, that's the ideal - the rote saying constantly repeated throughout life, yet the application continues to evade so many people. But Reborn is definitely not one of these people. He is madly in love with his job - perhaps a bit too much. The idiot Colonnello says his sadism shows time to time (quite often). Yet, despite the. . .unconventional career path of his, there is hardly anything that can rival the feel of cool cold metal on his calloused hands, hardened from years as a hitman, the thrill of feeling the solid recoil of his gun, the impulse rippling through his sturdy arms, and the acrid smell of gunpowder.

It is a pity he had to wash off the smoky scent, but the sweat he worked up from his slightly more difficult than average mission was beginning to cool on his back, making him uncomfortably clammy. He now revels in the residual steam of the shower, toweling himself off in front of his bathroom sink. Reborn makes a move to clothe himself but not before the offhanded sight of the bareness of his skin halts his movements. Save for a few short black lines in a row drawn by himself on his bicep, Reborn is markless, like a baby fresh out of the womb.

The bareness shouldn't disturb him anymore. He has spent nearly 20 years looking at his skin, void of the tell-tale markings made by The One - his soulmate. The absence of such markings isn't uncommon, typically due to the age gap of soulmates, but a difference of 18 years is pushing it and Reborn has given up all hope. Not that he really had any to begin with. Sure, when he was younger, the purely olive tanned skin unnerved him and the pitying looks he received from nosy onlookers were downright annoying. Now, older. wiser, and he married to his job. However, this doesn't prevent his heart from clenching every time, during the lazy aftermath of one of his flings, when his partner skims gentle hands over his body and looks saddingly at his empty skin, when their own is often covered in the handwriting of their soulmate.

Reborn offhandedly traces nimble fingers over his own marks, counting 5, and rolls over them like piano keys. Quickly he clothes himself having felt the beginning of goosebumps pickling on the surface of his skin. Slipping on a t-shirt and pants, he hides the skin that have never felt true love.

As he slips into his unnecessarily large bed, he consoles himself with a single thought: his job is the only soulmate he needs.

"A healthy boy, ma'am. And I come bearing beautiful news."

A doctor hands over a blanket swaddled bundle to the bed-ridden brunette of who the resemblance is uncanny. Both the child and mother are blessed with fluffy tawny hair, fair skin, and a small button-nosed face, but the eyes couldn't be more alike yet different. The child has dark chocolate eyes like his mother, but if one were to spend more time gazing into them, he or she would find themselves inexplicably drawn to the conclusion of vibrant orange eyes.

With expert fingers, the doctor parts the blanket, exposing soft baby skin, and murmurs softly with a voice tinged with happiness ,"The first soulmate markings."

The brunette can hardly retain her glee, a smile brimming from ear to ear and endearing eyes look upon her child's special marks.

Five simple black lines on the bicep.