When Yuuri was four years old, he learnt that not all men are created equal.

No one knew why the phenomenon first happened.

All the people involved could say was that that one moment they were reaching out for someone, and the next thing they knew, the skin they had touched had changed, blooming with a burst of colors; colours that matched the hues spreading across their own skin.

Like bruises , they were recalled to have said, but like the colour had always belonged there.

People had panicked at the sight, quarantining those involved, scared of another disease outbreak. Scientists tried to study those strange markings, but found nothing. The people with the colors - against all odds - seemed healthy. In fact, they were even healthier than their medical history would have them believe.

It seemed like the disease happened to affect people in pairs, sometimes two or even more people with the same colours were affected. The scientists had decided to room those with the same colouring together in a room, to observe how the disease progressed. They had opened a special task force for investigation and called it The Zombie Project.

But...

After a few months with no results and more and more people being admitted everyday with a case of matching colouring after touching each other's skin, scientists realized that nothing could be found.

They had to release the people from quarantine, the human rights groups screamed.

So, they did, observing from afar, expecting the people to avoid the ones they had been quarantined with. For they had to have been tired of each other's company, especially with no other non-medical contact for months on end.

Only…

That didn't happen.

Slowly, but surely, the scientists had started to notice a pattern. More often than not, those with the same colours, after an initial contact, seemed to find each other's company more preferable than being with others, sometimes going as far as to marry the other person.

With this breakthrough, the scientists brought them back in, rejoicing, sure that an answer was within reach. They connected them to medical devices and let them go about their daily life, and watched.

"That's impossible!" The Chief Scientist was remembered having said, angrily.

"You are trying to tell me that somehow these people are giving the same readings as people on cocaine when they come in contact with each other ? That's not possible! They must be on something!"

A nearby scientist had stammered, twiddling his fingers, "We, uh, checked, Chief. They're all clean, but their brains are eerily similar to a person's brain on cocaine…"

The Chief had famously dismissed this report and sent in his team for more observation, sure they hadn't uncovered the mystery virus. It was clearly dangerous, if it could affect human decision making this much…

The report was tossed and put in storage. Sure to never see the light of day again.

And that would have been that.

Or it would have been, if only one of the scientists on the project, hadn't had an Initial Contact of his own.

He had watched in horror as the reds and pinks rippled across the woman's arm from where he had caught it in an effort to keep her from falling over, sure that his life as he knew it had now ended; he had been infected.

And he wasn't wrong.

Life as he knew it had changed.

Six months later, he opened his eyes to see the red and pink hued arms flung across the bed, beside him, and for the first time in his life, felt an unknown feeling rise in his chest, bubbling, both a hot air balloon, and the fire lighting it urging it on its flight.

His eyes widened.

The scientist's discovery, known later colloquially as "The Soulmate Theory", started slowly making the rounds, drawing disbelief from some, surprise from others, and relief in a rare few.

The report surfaced, adding credence to the scientist's theory, until the murmurs of a few became a call to action of the Coloured masses.

" It's love! It's not an infection! It's love! " became a rallying cry as more and more people every day saw their own colours bloom: with a friend, a lover, a stranger.

Then one day, a child woke up, glowing with bright light.

Suddenly, soulmates were old news; it seemed the age of superpowers had come to be.

The world started to be filled with things only to be found in storybooks, with children getting powers that seemed like magic, at the age of four.

Despite initial uproar and panic, humanity's resilience kicked in, and the world adapted, until it was common to see someone fly to work or grow to the size of a building.

Life went on as per usual.

Anthropologists gave names to these strange new events, powers started being called quirks, the first meeting of soulmates was deemed Initial Contact, and so on and so forth, until it had all been categorized and organized.

Until it was almost banal. Rote.

Yuuri learnt these facts like every child in the post-Quirk world. He was confident that he recognized the responsibility he would one day wield as a quirk user. He was ready.

Only, when he turned four, he was not able to breathe fire or fly to school or even levitate his pencil. The doctors told him and his parents to be patient, for it would surely come to be.

But years went by, with nothing manifesting.

It seemed like despite everything, Yuuri didn't have a quirk.

Then, one day, Yuuri met a cat.

She was a tiny thing, with big eyes and a bigger heart, seemingly adopting Yuuri as one of her own. Yuuri played with her, until he felt none of the hurt from the way other kids teased him, or intrusive thoughts about how he probably wouldn't have a soulmate either.

That cat quickly became Yuuri's world, becoming his playmate, friend and family. Yuuri would go out everyday, after school, to the back of the onsen, and wait for her to come so they would play.

Only… one day, she didn't show.

Yuuri, worried, went searching, only to find her lying, bloody and bruised in an alleyway, being prodded by a nearby bird inquisitively.

Yuuri, too young to understand, ran over to her and called her name repeatedly, asking her to wake up, so they could play.

His cries grew increasingly desperate the longer she lay, motionless. Until, he reached out and touched her.

She got up;

Bloody and bruised but alive , nosing at Yuuri's clothed knees.

Yuuri laughed with relief, and touched her head, scratching behind her ears, just the way she liked it.

Only, the head he was petting slumped, as her body lost its strength, until she was draped over Yuuri's knee, like a limp doll.

Yuuri called out to her, sure she was just playing again, and begged her to get up, please .

Only, this time, she didn't get up.

It had been a long time since Yuuri had been that kid cradling a dead friend in an alleyway.

He had grown, and so had his knowledge of his quirk.

The rules were as such: He could bring back the dead with one touch of his skin, but if he were to touch them again, they would die, this time permanently. However, if he kept brought someone to life, after a minute, someone in the vicinity would die in turn, in a macabre mockery of equivalent exchange.

It had been a long time since he had been that boy, but in this moment, Yuuri didn't feel the strength gained from those years, instead he was the same young boy crying out helplessly.

"Victor?" He whimpered, held against a wall by the mugger.

"He's dead now, just like you will be, if you don't do exactly as I say." The man hissed in his ears.

Yuuri felt the same wet heat in his chest that he had felt all those years ago, at the sight of that silver hair spread across the dirty pavement and the dulled blue eyes that were staring lifelessly at the sky.

Victor was dead.

Yuuri felt as if a part of him had died along with him.

"Are you listening to me?!" The man hissed, shaking Yuuri.

Yuuri looked back.

The next few minutes were a blur as Yuuri fought to get to Victor's sprawled out form, successfully landing a decisive punch between the man's legs.

The man groaned and fell to the ground, but Yuuri paid him no mind, scrambling to get to Victor's side.

Please, please, please, not him, please, I'll do anything.

Yuuri reached out, fingers spread. He was prepared to pay any price, even if it was his own death, if it meant Victor would live again.

A world without Victor and his heart-shaped smile was unfathomable, not one worth living in.

Without hesitation, Yuuri closed his eyes and touched Victor's neck, right where his pulse would be, bones chilled.

A gasp greeted him, rendered in a voice more familiar than his own.

Yuuri opened his eyes, and looked down at Victor.

Only to stare in horror as deep purples and blues spread rapidly, like a brand, across Victor's neck, like a ripple originating from where Yuuri was touching him.

Like bruises, Yuuri thought hysterically, but like they belonged there from the very beginning .

Yuuri pulled away, staring at his own fingers which were coloured with the same purples and blues. He turned to look at the equally wide-eyed Victor. Victor reached out, hand reaching towards Yuuri.

Yuuri flinched away, scrambling back until he was against the opposite wall, away from Victor, who was alive and hi s soulmate.

"Yuuri, what - ?" Victor asked softly, confusion evident.

"Stay away from me, Victor, please." Yuuri grit out, pain splinting his chest in two.

Victor reeled back, hurt showing in his wide eyes, and turned away to look around the alley. He then shouted, running up to the mugger who was motionless on the ground.

Yuuri looked at the still form dispassionately, and eyed the red stain still in Victor's shirt from the bullet wound he had sustained.

"Yuuri, he's dead! What happened here?!" Victor exclaimed, running a hand through his hair furiously. The movement bared his purple-hued throat towards Yuuri like a bird during a mating call. Yuuri grit his teeth at the memory of those colours blooming underneath his fingers.

Yuuri closed his eyes and, against the sound of the nearby police sirens and the feeling of his world crashing around him, concentrated on his breathing.

When Yuuri was four years old, he learnt that not all men are created equal.

Some were born with lightness in their minds and charm on their tongues. They carried hopes and dreams.

But, some were burdened with curses they carried for their whole lives.