#demile

Emile Picani was born without a soulmate, just a blank wrist.

His parents were a typical love story in their world. They met young, their names burning bright on their wrists, shock and awe and excitement as they realised they’d found their soulmate. They stayed together through high school, of course, and got married as soon as they finished university. His mother wore a pretty mermaid tail white dress, his father had gushed over how lucky he was to have such a beautiful soulmate, and two years later they’d had Emile’s older brother Logan, who was born with the name Roman Prince on his wrist in deep red. It sparkled in the sun, and Emile swore there were flecks of gold within it.

 But then Emile was born, pale blank wrists, a doctor reassuring his parents that many people don’t develop their marks until later. That he had one patient who got it at “the cut off mark”, and how lucky they were, how close they were to not having one!

 So his parents relaxed, assumed he’d develop one in due course.

 He was three when he first realised he was “different” than his family. Logan was only two years older than him, and really didn’t understand as much as he’d like to pretend.  So when Emile traced over the curves of the R and asked why he didn’t have a name, Logan had said they were still looking for someone good enough for him.

 Emile found it funny, had blushed, made some high pitched squawking noise, and continued playing. His parents overheard, and used it as the reason whenever the question came up. Anything to make their son feel normal.

 Emile went to playgroup, met a variety of children with a variety of names. Only a couple didn’t have theirs yet, but they were too young to really understand why it was such a big deal.  Em  ile met  Remy there,  a boy with pitch black letters scrawled over his wrist, deep and inky.

“October,” Emile reads proudly, “I don’t know anyone named after a month though...”

 R  emy shrugs,  picks up  a pen and starts doodling over a sheet of paper, as blank as Emile’s arms.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s a dumb name. Yours is cooler.”

 E  mile smiled, gap toothed and  rosy cheeked,  looking forwards to the day he met someone with his name on them.  He liked to imagine it as pink and bubbly,  maybe with a sparkle like his brothers.  He started looking at his wrist more often, imagining  the name that would appear.

 B  y the time the year ended and he had to start school with Remy, he was the only person he knew without a name. Just a blank wrist.

“It’s ok,” his mother reassures him, “my grandmother didn’t get hers until the cut off point. She was thirteen! A day later and she’d have been a Spare!”

 Spare.  Emile doesn’t understand the word as an insult, but Logan does, and he understands  that it’s bad the day Logan comes home complaining  a kid called Emile a Spare.

“Like a spare pencil?” Emile asks, almost hopefully, “you know, in case you need an extra one!”

 H  e was young, but old enough to recognise pity.  He sees it in how his mother smiles sadly, his brother runs a hand through his hair, and his father nods.

“Yes, Emile. Like...a spare pencil.”

 R  emy  works it out before him, of course, the two sat under a tree  reading  when Remy blurts out that  his mother thinks Emile’s a Spare.

“She says you’re not gonna get a mark,” he says, “but she’s wrong. You’re not a Spare, don’t worry.”

“What’s a Spare?” Emile asks, “people keep saying the word, but I don’t get it.”

“Just means someone without a name. They used to believe it was the universe making sure there were people left over in case of death or something,” Remy says it like he’s been told it a million times, “it’s sad. I’ve never met a Spare before though. Maybe they don’t exist.”

“Maybe,” Emile agrees, and closes the book he’s reading. He finds himself drifting to books and shows without romance in them. He knows he’s not a Spare, but it doesn’t hurt to take his mind off things.

 H  e likes cartoons, he discovers.  Where he can ignore romance, if there’s any,  and focus on the action, the characters.  He likes Steven Universe. He likes that even though  Sapphire and Ruby are in love, he doesn’t have to focus on it.  Besides, most cartoons didn’t have  soulmate marks.  Most of them.

“You’ve got time,” his mother reassures him when he mentions this, “and we can take you to see a doctor if you’re worried.”

 He doesn’t like that, the idea that he should see a doctor, that something is  wrong  with him.  He tells this to Logan,  who presses a kiss to his forehead and tells him  he’s perfect, that  nobody deserves their name on his wrist anyway.

“Soulmates are a ridiculous concept,” Logan tells him, emphasising the large words proudly, and Emile giggles because he’s seen Logan pondering dictionaries in his spare time.

 (  He giggles a little less when  Logan comes home  talking about the new kid at school, about how he’s called Roman Prince, about how Logan’s name  looks like a galaxy on his wrist and it’s beautiful.)

“Yeah, well, you’ve always got me,” Remy says with a grin, “romance sucks. You’re safe from hearing about it with me.”

“You can talk about it if you want,” Emile replies, but is grateful nonetheless.

 T  hey spend their days  complaining about their teacher,  doing homework in thick  coloured pen,  then  playing Crystal Gems  in the local park.  There’s no expectations, and  nobody looks too long at Emile’s blank wrist  for it to be a bother.

 H  e’s eight when he sees a Spare for the first time.  An elderly woman  with a  bright spotted  walking stick,  a pink shawl around her shoulders.  He stops to  fanboy over her  Pearl keyring,  talking about how much he loves that show, talking about cartoons and  fantasy novels.

“Such a bright boy,” she tells his parents, and he puffs his chest out proudly, “though he’s wrong, the best fusion is definitely Opal.”

 E  mile is so busy spluttering and  trying to argue that he almost misses the sight of her bare wrists,  no names written on  her dark wrinkled skin.

“Mummy, she was like me,” he says.

“Yes, you both liked your cartoons!”

“No, mummy, she had a blank wrist!”

 L  ogan tells him he shouldn’t have said it, that it was rude to point it out. His mother starts crying,  saying that  the woman was different,  that Emile wasn’t a   Spare  .  Later his father tells him to be careful with what he says,  even though Emile is confused.

“Why is being a Spare so bad?” he asks.

 (  He sees an announcement that a cartoon loving woman is dead three weeks later in the newspaper. A funeral is arranged by her estranged brother, but  when Emile goes past the funeral that day he notices the only people to turn up are the brother and his soulmate.)

 H  e hears more people say the word now he’s getting older. He’s half way to the “  cut off” point, and there are whispers. The other kids talk behind his back at school, and the whispers follow him home,  where he lies awake at night hearing  his parents sob about how they have a  Spare  as a son.

“Ignore them,” Logan tells him, “you’ll get there when you get there.”

He watches Logan laugh at Roman’s jokes, watches Roman listen to Logan’s music choices, the two watching musicals and sci-fi films on YouTube at every given chance. He’s happy for his brother, and agrees that his name looks like a galaxy against Roman’s wrist. Purple and black and blue, but shining brighter than any star he could name.

 E  mile dives further into cartoons and fantasy, away from  the love of his parents, his mother’s name s  carlet and  bold, his father’s  milky and  bright as the moon. Away from the love of his brother and Roman,  red and galaxy mixing beautifully when they link arms.  Away from the world of soulmates,  so he can pretend  he’s normal.

 R  emy is always there, always  arguing with people over whether Disney should s  top using soulmate marks  in their shows.  Does it matter who Moana  is  destined   to be with, after all?  But Emile doesn’t mind so much, content to watch fantasy people  have fantasy adventures, content to imagine that the concept of soulmate marks is just part of the fantasy.

 R  emy meets October in the summer before they start middle school.

 They’re playing on the swings, excited  to be moving up in the world.  And then a boy  with wild black curls comes up shyly, holding out his wrist,  where Remy’s name  is scrawled  in messy capital letters,  the colour of ground coffee beans.

“October?” Remy asks, and Emile knows he’s the second choice from then on out.

 T  o his credit, October   –  or Toby, as he likes to be called   –  is lovely.  He passes no judgements on Emile’s blank wrist,  never mentions the concept of  Spares  , and  turns out to be a Disney fan.  He fits into their group seamlessly,  as natural as the rise of the moon,  and Emile  knows Remy’s never been happier.

 M  iddle School is a nightmare. Emile quickly realises he’s the only one in the building with a blank wrist, and finds himself hiding it under cardigans and bracelets.  He pretends to be shy, changes topics from soulmates to  cartoons, and makes sure to clap and respond politely when people around him start meeting their soulmates.

“I get it, it’s a big deal for them,” he assures Logan, who looks so concerned these days, “if they’re as happy as you and Roman are then that’s all that matters!”

“I’m happy if you’re happy,” Logan tells him, and hugs him tightly.

 B  ut Emile’s thirteenth birthday approaches   quick,  and Emile’s parents are on edge, each day checking his wrist, sometimes subtly, sometimes just grabbing it outright.

“He’s a Spare,” he hears his father sob, “was it something we did, do you think? I read that too much sugar in infantry-”

“Maybe I ate too much fish whilst pregnant with him?” his mother suggests, “some people say-”

 T  hey don’t know Emile can hear them, and Emile feels bitter when they pretend to be happy the next day. He wants to call them out, but fears their reactions too much.  What if they’re angry with him? What if they decide it must be his fault?

 H  e’s crying a week before his thirteenth birthda  y  alone in the toilets at school.  He’s supposed to be  at  Band,   but instead he’s  wishing he had a name instead of just a blank wrist.

“What’s wrong?”

 He looks up at the voice,  vaguely recognising the kid looking at him.  They share a few classes, he’s pretty sure.  A boy with dark hair,  dark eyes   and vitiligo across his  dark  face.  If not for the flashes of yellow  in his clothes he could blend  in with the night better than Lapis Lazuli with the ocean.

“I’m a Spare,” he whispers, wiping his eyes, “I turn thirteen next week and I don’t have a name. My parents are going to be so disappointed.”

 T  he boy hums, and  Emile sees  the name  Virgil Knight   flash across his wrist,  patchy purple and swirly.

“Parents suck. Does it matter that much that you have a name?”

 Emi  le shrugs. “Logan says it doesn’t, but my parents  d  isagree.”

“Logan Picani, right?” the boy tilts his head, “he’s the kid dating Roman, the drama club guy?”

 E  mile nods. “My brother.  I’m Emile Picani.”

The kid hums, then grins, walking over and grabbing Emile’s arm before he can protest. Out comes a pen, and then Emile has Deceit Hart on his wrist.

“Well, Emile, looks like you have a name. And yes, that’s my real name. My mother was angry because dad cheated on her, and I got the lifelong reminder.”

 He says it dryly, but also tiredly, as if he’s had to  explain this a hundred times. And if he’s telling the truth, then  he probably has.

“Later, Emile.”

 H  e rushes home to show them his “soulmate mark”.  Logan looks suspicious, but plays along, whilst his parents gush, too happy and relieved to question why it looks a little more inky than the average mark.  Roman is there, and leans  over.  The drama club guy.

“Hey, Deceit. I know his brother!”

Remy insists that Deceit start joining them at lunch. After all, Toby did, so Emile’s soulmate should as well! And Emile is certain that Deceit is going to spill the beans, out Emile as a Spare, but instead he grins and accepts the invitation, fitting in with the group so casually that Emile is almost convinced he really is his soulmate.

Deceit goes over the lines every day, and his own sleeves get longer, covering the name Virgil Knight, so nobody can argue that the two are soulmates. Emile feels bad for Virgil, whoever he is. He tries bringing it up with Deceit, pointing out that he can’t lie to his future soulmate.

“Virgil can deal with it,” the boy says dryly, “you can’t be the soulmate of someone called Deceit and not expect a few lies, can you?”

Three months later his parents insist on meeting Deceit, wanting to know what their son’s soulmate is like. Roman talks about Deceit’s brother, a kid in his and Logan’s year called Patton, who Logan speaks fondly of as well.

“I admit, I didn’t know Deceit had you as his soulmate,” Roman says, “I would’ve thought I’d noticed!”

Emile tries to laugh, but the lie still tastes bad on his tongue.

It doesn’t stop him helping to cover up Deceit’s soulmate mark with make up, then going over the now-blank wrist with a pink sharpie, his own name now looping over someone’s wrist.

“Pretty,” Deceit comments.

“I guess.”

Emile introduces Deceit to his parents, and Deceit is perfect, on his best behaviour, smiling and cracking jokes and showing interest in everything his family says. Emile wishes Deceit really could be his soulmate, and wishes he could be sure that Deceit isn’t lying about, well, everything.

“See? Not so bad. And now your name is on someone!” Deceit grins afterwards, holding up his wrist, the pink still as bright as it was when Emile first applied it.

“I feel bad lying though,” Emile mutters, “and what are you going to do when you meet Virgil?”

“I’ll just discuss it with him. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Deceit says it confidently, and Emile thinks that’s his favourite part about Deceit. The confidence. Deceit never hesitates, never backs down, never hides how he feels. He’s chosen to represent their year group in a debate competition, along with Toby, and the two go to the finals against Logan and Patton.

(Brother versus brother!)

Logan reassures Emile that it’s ok if he wants to support his soulmate rather than his brother, and Emile can’t help but resent the statement.

But he supports Deceit regardless, because he’s convincing. He’s loud and convinced from the start that his side is right.

It’s a silly debate, really. The school have tried to keep it light, so two thirteen year olds are arguing that you should skip a wedding to go for an interview for your dream job, whilst two fifteen year olds argue that you should go to the wedding and support your friends.

“He believed in egoism – or, acting in your own self interest,” explains Deceit, smirking because he’s got everyone’s attention.

“But that’s wrong!” Patton protests, whilst Logan looks annoyed at having to reign in someone so emotional.

“No. You’re wrong.”

Emile’s heart flutters a little at how confidently Deceit can say such a bold statement – and to his own family member!

Deceit and Toby win, though really all Toby did was agree with what Deceit was saying. It was to be expected, in a way, because Deceit manages to get Mr Sanders, who is supposed to be the neutral judge, to agree with him.

“You’ve got a talent,” Logan says afterwards, whilst Patton hugs his brother tightly, “you should join the debate club. I’m happy to put in a recommendation for you to be Captain next year.”

“Nah, I’m not that fond of debating,” Deceit says, and they all know it’s a lie, because he accepts Logan’s recommendation, and the next year takes over the position.

“You’ll be in High School too soon,” Logan points out to Emile, “make sure you let them know Deceit’s your soulmate, that way you’ll be put into the same classes.”

(Emile shifts awkwardly, and Logan considers mentioning that he knows Emile isn’t Deceit’s soulmate. But he lets it go, because if his brother’s happy then that’s all that matters.)

Deceit and Emile keep up the lie throughout middle school, going on double dates with Remy and Toby in their final year, two pairs of fifteen year olds arguing over which Disney movie to watch at the cinema. Emile likes it, likes holding hands with Deceit, likes the kiss on the cheek he receives at the end.

“We’ll still be friends after you meet Virgil, right?” he asks timidly one night.

The four at at his house for a sleepover, Remy and Toby having fallen asleep during Lilo and Stitch two hours ago. The make up has smudged enough that the purple letters are just visible, and Emile’s heart aches at the idea of losing his wannabe-soulmate.

“Best friends,” Deceit promises, and kisses Emile’s forehead, “forever.”

It’s the summer before they start High School, Remy and Toby finally making themselves official, and celebrating with a week away at Toby’s grandparents’ house, a pretty cottage by the sea.

“Have fun!” Emile hugs Remy tightly, “I’m so jealous of you guys, find a pretty seashell for me, would you?”

Toby laughs as Remy returns the hug. “We can manage that,” he assures Emile, “text us if you reach your growth spurt whilst we’re gone, ok?”

“I hate you,” Emile snaps, but laughs nonetheless when his three friends crowd around him, knowing he’s easily two inches shorter than them all.

“Use protection,” Deceit teases Remy, nudging Toby in the ribs, “try wait until Wednesday.”

Emile smacks him lightly around the head, and Deceit laughs. Deceit had already turned sixteen, whilst Remy and Toby shared a birthday. Emile still had two months to go.

“Watch it, or I’ll keep you filled in,” Remy warns, but his eyes sparkle.

“Ooh, fill me, yes please-”

“Dee!”

And then for a week it’s just the fake soulmates, starting each day redoing each others’ names and planning what to do.

“I think I might dye my hair when my parents go for their anniversary this weekend,” Emile says, “what do you think?”

“What colour?”

“Pink.”

“You’ll look fantastic. I was thinking of keying our local politician’s car.”

“That’s illegal.”

“And?”

Roman walks in on them dying Emile’s hair, and calls to Logan, saying that Deceit’s clearly a bad influence on his little brother, smiling nonetheless.

“Oh yes, a terrible influence,” Deceit says dryly, running pink through the tips, “after we dye his hair pink we’re going to get our ears pierced and spray Trans Rights over our headteacher’s car.”

“That’s illegal,” Logan points out, and doesn’t understand why Emile and Deceit burst out laughing.

The pair do both things. They go to the local Claire’s to get piercings, knowing it’s not the best place but doing it anyway. The lady coos over their soulmate marks, talks sadly about how her niece is a Spare, and Deceit loudly proclaims that his brother is a Spare, and how rude it is when people use the word.

“It’s just a blank wrist,” he snaps, and pays half what he’s meant to, despite Emile trying to convince him.

“I didn’t know Patton was...”

“Oh, he’s not, I just didn’t want to out you.”

They go over to Deceit’s home to get spray paint, and Emile sees the faint chicken scratch on Patton’s wrist, decorated with drawn-on flowers. Patton sees him looking and hides his wrist.

“I think there’s more in my room,” he tells Deceit, who hurries off, then turns to Emile, “...I know you’re not my brother’s soulmate.”

Emile almost throws up, a deer caught in the headlights. How are you supposed to react when you’re called out on a three year long lie? “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Don’t be, I’m sure it was Dee’s idea. But I hope you two know what you’re going to do when he meets Virgil.”

Virgil Knight became Emile’s nightmare. The idea of someone who would walk into his best friend’s life, reveal the lies, and walk away with everything Emile wanted.

He began to resent Virgil, tried to imagine him as someone particularly ugly, or stupid, or nasty, someone that Deceit wouldn’t want. He knows Deceit knows his thoughts, because when deep in his hatred of the mystery soulmate he finds Dee squeezing his hand gently, thumb tracing the fake soulmate mark.

Toby and Remy return from their trip with three sacks of shells, and lie them out on Remy’s bedroom floor for Deceit and Emile to enjoy.

“Take as many as you like,” Remy tells them, and Deceit picks up a translucent pink one, feeling the spiral and the perfectly smooth interior.

“Emile, this one’s almost as beautiful as you,” he says, and Emile flushes as he takes it.

(He puts it up on his bookshelf at home, and gently holds it to his chest every night before he sleeps.)

Deceit flirts a lot with him over the summer, and he knows it’s intentional, because Deceit grins at him every time, sly and mischievous.

“You can’t do that,” he protests one day towards the end, “what would Virgil think?”

“No idea, never met him,” Deceit replies breezily, “more importantly, what do you think?”

“Huh?”

“What do you think? Like...say I kissed you, what would you think?”

Emile goes red, changes the topic, and tries to ignore the way Deceit’s face falls for a fraction of a second.

They don’t bring it up again.

And then Virgil Knight makes his appearance two weeks into their High School life.

“Deceit?”

The four look up at a tall gangly emo kid, smudged mascara and almost entirely hidden underneath a band hoodie.

“Whatever it is, I probably did it, and definitely don’t regret it,” Deceit says instantly.

“No – I mean...you’re Deceit Hart, right?”

Deceit nods, taking a bite out of his sandwich, and Emile knows what’s about to happen before the words are out of the emo’s mouth.

“I’m Virgil Knight. I...I’m your soulmate.”

Emile’s life falls apart in slow motion.

First, Remy tells Virgil he’s wrong, because Emile is Deceit’s soulmate, and shows Virgil his wrist.

Then Remy sees the name is smudged, because for the first time in three years Emile’s fake soulmate mark has smudged, as if it knew what was about to happen.

Next, Virgil rounds on Deceit, demanding to know why his name is on someone else.

Toby is in shock, staring as the scene unfolds.

Remy is yelling, Virgil is crying, people are watching.

And Deceit is silent throughout, looking thoughtful, as if debating on what to say, as if anything could make this situation anything less than humiliating and painful.

“Nice to meet you Virgil,” he says finally, “this is Emile, he’s my best friend.”

Virgil explodes, and Emile later compares it to when Pearl gets popped and her clone goes nuts.

Virgil is screaming, grabbing Deceit’s wrist, seeing the make up cover up his name, demanding to know why Deceit doesn’t want his actual soulmate.

Emile, Deceit and Virgil are sent to the headteacher, who takes Virgil’s side, pointing out that lying about your soulmate is a crime in some countries. He asks Emile who his real soulmate is, and realises a moment later that Emile just has a blank wrist.

“It was my idea,” Deceit says quickly, seeing the tone of the headteacher change rapidly, “please don’t get mad at Emile, this whole thing is because of my actions.”

Emile is sent home nonetheless, and his parents alternate between being furious and being distraught. He can’t tell if they’re upset he lied to them, or if they’re upset because he’s a Spare.

“I can’t believe you’re blank,” his mother sobs, “you’re a – how could – my own son is a Spare!”

His father comforts his mother, and Emile quickly realises where the two stand. There’s anger inside him, boiling up, bitter and dark. It wasn’t fair that they were crying over his blank wrists, it wasn’t fair that everyone’s ideas of him changed when they found out he was a Spare.

“Everyone at school thinks it’s your fault,” Remy tells him down the phone, “...you could have told me you were lying, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” whispers Emile, “I didn’t think it’d get so...like this...”

“We’ve been friends forever, Em! You shouldn’t have hid this from me!”

“I’m sorry.”

He hates having to tell Logan, and cries as he does,

“I’m not angry at you,” Logan reassures him, “though it was a reckless decision to make. Is it really so bad to have blank wrists?”

“I don’t want to be a Spare,” Emile snaps, “you don’t know what it’s like, Lo, when everyone makes a thousand judgements at once because part of your skin is blank. It doesn’t feel good! I hate it! I hate everyone! I hate myself!”

(He cries late into the night.)

Remy and Toby approach him the next day at school, wrapping their arms around him gently.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“We’re not angry at you,” Toby says quickly, “or Dee, really. It was a dumb thing to do, but...yeah...”

“Just tell us next time,” Remy says gently, “it hurt, Em, no lie. But we still love you. Just...be honest with us in future.”

Emile is grateful for his friends, because Deceit has been removed from his classes, placed into ones with Virgil. He hears nothing from Deceit for three days straight, and he’s so convinced that Deceit has dropped him now he has Virgil.

Then Deceit breaks into his bedroom late at night, looking worse for wear, with dark circles under his eyes and a bruised cheek.

“Surprise!”

“Dee, breaking into places is illegal.”

“I know.”

Emile hugs him tightly, and cries softly when Deceit pulls him close, soft and firm and warm and perfect.

“Why didn’t you message me?”

“My brother took my phone,” mutters Deceit, sitting down and pulling Emile onto his lap, “says I need to learn to be responsible.”

“Your cheek-”

“Yeah, turns out my mum considers the whole lying about your soulmate thing to be a lot like cheating. Virgil agrees, so I’m kinda outnumbered. I, uh, don’t think Virgil expected her to react so badly though.”

Emile presses a gentle kiss to Dee’s bruise.

“What’s Virgil like?”

“Annoying. I mean, he’s cool and all, but being forced to spend all your time with an emo whose life revolves around My Chemical Romance is a pain. Plus he’s really angry with me, and we have nothing in common except for a love of Harry Potter. And he doesn’t even know what house he is!”

Emile laughs, because out of everything Deceit could be annoyed about, the Hogwarts House seems to have gotten him the most worked up.

“-And I said, maybe he was a Hufflepuff! But nope, he rejected that too!”

“Tell him he’s a Hufflepunk,” suggests Emile, “he might prefer that.”

Deceit pouts. “No way, there’s only one Hufflepunk in my life.” And he runs a hand through Emile’s pink hair, smiling softer than Emile’s ever seen.

“...I wish you really were my soulmate,” Emile confesses.

“I don’t,” mutters Deceit, “the whole thing is stupid, being made to be close to someone just because you have their name on you...”

“My name’s been on you for three years.”

“That’s different. You were a choice.”

Later, neither would be sure of who kissed who first, but Emile likes to think he made the first move, clumsy and awkward, lips meeting Deceit’s in a silent declaration of love.

“Then choose me again,” Emile whispers, pleads, and Deceit kisses him back.

To say Virgil dislikes this turn of events would be an understatement. Emile can’t blame him – to be told your whole life that you would meet a person who would love you forever, and then that person turns around and says no?

“I’d still like to be friends,” Deceit tells him quickly, “you seem great, and I’m happy to have met you, I just-”

“I can’t believe that between me and a Spare, you chose the Spare.”

“Don’t call him that.”

“I’m meant to be your only choice,” mutters Virgil, “not second to some...blank wristed nobody.”

Deceit rolls his eyes. “I can choose who I like. And I choose Emile, blank wrist and all.”

Virgil makes his dislike of Deceit and Emile obvious from then on, and does his best to avoid them, but destiny forces soulmates together one way or another, and within a year Virgil gives up on avoiding them, instead calling a truce of sorts.

Remy and Toby are silently thankful throughout that their own lives have a lot less drama in them.

Roman is happy for Deceit and Emile, simply stating that he finds the choice a lot more romantic than a typical soulmate meeting.

Patton comes around eventually, but it puts a rift between the brothers, and Virgil becomes closer to Patton pretty quickly.

“What university are you applying for?” Deceit asks Virgil when the time comes, “I want to make sure I’m applying elsewhere.”

“Fuck off,” snaps Virgil, “I’m not sharing anything with you.”

(So of course they end up applying to the same places, and Virgil goes to Patton in distress, complaining about how the universe hated him and that destiny was out to get him.)

“We’re just doomed to keep running into Virgil,” Deceit tells Emile, Remy and Toby, “I hate it.”

“Maybe you guys will be friends, eventually,” Toby suggests.

“Maybe.”

Emile’s parents never quite get over having a Spare for a child. They get Emile to specialists all over the country, as if that could do anything, until Logan puts his foot down, demanding they stop putting so much pressure on him to be “normal”.

Emile goes to the same university as Logan, eagerly telling his friends about his plans to study psychology there.

“I’m thinking of becoming a therapist,” he says, “I think I’d be good at it.”

“I think so too,” Remy says, smiling.

“You’re good at lots of things,” Deceit comments, and winks, “but does this mean I’ll be able to call you doctor and get you to-”

“Dee, if you end that how I think you’re going to end that, I’ll kill you,” Toby says seriously.

“Kinky,” Emile and Deceit say at the same time, and Toby gets up and leaves.

“That makes no sense!” they hear him yell, and Remy just shakes his head.

Deceit gets a snake tattooed around his wrist, covering up Virgil’s name. In response, Virgil gets a band of music notes over a galaxy sky, covering up Deceit’s.

“Want me to get your name tattooed?” Deceit asks Emile one day, the pair lazing about on a hot summer day.

“Not really. I’ve had enough of names,” Emile holds up his own blank wrists, “besides, then I’d get yours done, and I’ve come to like my blank wrists.”

“I like them too,” Deceit says, capturing them lightly and kissing Emile, “though they’d look even more pretty wrapped up in rope...”

Emile shakes his head, mutters that Deceit has no chill, and kisses him back. And if he deepens the kiss a little and mentions where Deceit might find some rope, then, well...that’s just a bonus.

There is no ending to their story, of course not.

Emile is a Spare, and every time someone sees his wrists they do a double take, look at him in sympathy, or offer him the number of a doctor that definitely knows how to “cure” that sort of thing. As if having no name was equal to an illness.

(Emile eventually starts explaining to these people that he is a doctor, and he knows better than to trust any that claim they can cure the lack of a soulmate mark.)

Deceit’s name is covered up, and someone will always whisper about it, expecting some sort of story behind it. And there is, yes, but Deceit has a dramatic flair and prefers to give over the top excuses every time.

(Eventually Emile convinces him to start writing his stories, and his books become world famous.)

Logan and Roman get married, a typical soulmate story, and Emile begs to be a bridesmaid.

Patton meets his soulmate, and Virgil ends up joining them in a polyamorous relationship of sorts. There’s never any real forgiveness between Virgil and Deceit, but the two can’t stop running into each other and eventually create their own terms of peace.

Remy and Toby don’t get married, but stay friends with the pair throughout their life, because as Deceit and Emile know, sometimes it’s the people you choose that you’re closest to.

“I’m glad I chose you,” Deceit tells Emile each morning, waking him up with kisses and a squeeze of the hand. Emile smiles every time, knowing exactly what he means.