Thomas's POV:

"Hamilton, what the hell are you doing in my closet? Holy shit... I thought you were trying to leave!" For a moment in the bathroom, I thought I was going to die. I was positive he was going to commit suicide/murder by separation. Leaving the bathroom I was torn between running after him to save myself, or letting him have his way. If he failed he could always try again. But then the pain stopped getting worse as if he'd stopped moving.

I peer into the closet and don't see him immediately. The storm is raging outside, but when thunder rumbles I hear a squeak. I look to the side into the back corner of the closet and see him, curled up on the floor crying like a child that had a nightmare. It's almost pitiful. "Get out of my closet," I order, pointing to the futon he's been sleeping on. "There are nice clothes in there, and I don't want them ruined."

Whatever's got him so upset, probably isn't my problem. He scrambles to his feet and practically runs out of the closet, collapsing on the futon. "Go... go away," he mumbles, burying his face in a pillow he brought with him.

I roll my eyes. "Sorry to interrupt your panic fest, but I was in pain and thought I was going to die." He doesn't respond. "And it's not like I can go very far, so I'd appreciate it if you'd try to calm down and be quiet so I can sleep."

"I hate this..." he murmurs, the pillow muffling his voice.

"What?" I ask dryly. "Being fused? I know."

"That too..." he says. I'm surprised that wasn't first on the list. "I meant the storm. But I hate that too. I hate you."

He's being even more brutally honest than usual. Clearly, the storm has him really shaken up. "I know," I say again, sitting down on my bed.

"I want to un-fuse."

"I know."

"I wish I hadn't punched you."

"Because it was rude, or because we're apparently soulmates?"

"The latter." Thunder rumbles again and he flinches. "Keep talking, it drowns out the screams," he says, face still covered.

I'm temporarily speechless. Screams? What the hell is going on? "Yeah, ok Hamilton. Only if it'll keep you quiet."

He hums in agreement and I start rattling off random things. Now I have an arrogant, obnoxious, traumatized soulmate. This is going to be a long night. And an even longer rest of my life.