“So,” says a voice in his ear, “you must be some kind of, uh, pinball wizard, huh?” Alex jumps- being in solitary for three years has taken its toll on his reaction time. “Nah, I’ve only been playing for like two- wait, what?” Because Alex has traced the writing on his hip for five years now, the writing that in large, perfect loops, says exactly what this man has just said to him. It’s just perfect, isn’t it, that not two hours after he plays pinball for the first time he meets his fucking soulmate.