#poly sides

Virgil was ten years old when he saw them for the first time. He was sitting at the back of the classroom, staring out the window rather than actually paying attention to the lesson - not that it was anything important. It never was. 

He felt a tingling warmth rise to the skin on his arm, and his first instinct was that his arm had fallen asleep from propping his chin up, his elbow pressed to the hard top of the desk he sat at. But when he moved his arm to try to regain feeling in the limb, something caught his eye. Brows pulling together, Virgil watched as a patch of pink appeared on his skin. 

It looked like…

Paint?

But that didn’t make any sense. 

When was the last time he had painted anything? Art class was yesterday and he didn’t have it again until next week. And even if it had been today, he usually tried to steer clear of pink, not wanting any of the other students to pick on him for using such a “girly” color. 

Deciding he was most likely imagining it, Virgil shook his head and tugged his sweater sleeve over his arm, covering the offending mark before turning his attention to the front of the classroom. Maybe he was going crazy. Maybe he’d spent too long daydreaming, and he was imagining things in real life now. 

He would ask his grandma about it when he got home. 

The tingling warmth persisted, despite the fact that he was no longer looking at the skin, for another half hour before it ended abruptly, and Virgil found himself freezing without it. He pulled his arms further into the sleeves of his sweater, seeking out some sort of warmth to soothe himself. He bunched his shoulders until his hands disappeared into the soft, warm fabric, but even that wasn’t enough. 

The rest of the school day went by even slower than usual, which was really saying something. It normally dragged on at such a sluggish pace anyways that it was hard to imagine it being even slower. Virgil had a hard enough time under normal circumstances concentrating on what the teacher was saying, but with the memory of the mark fresh in his mind, it was nigh unto impossible. 

By the time he was called to board the bus, he was absolutely certain that he was going to go insane. The entire bus ride home, his eyes scanned his arm, trying to see the mark through his sleeve, as though it was some magical thing that was going to be visible in any circumstance. About halfway home, he caved and pulled his sleeve up, only to see that there was nothing there. 

What?

So… he had been imagining it, after all. 

He was a little disappointed, to say the least. A part of him had hoped that he was special and had magic powers or something. Maybe he would ask his grandma about it anyways; just explain what had happened, rather than showing her. 

When the bus pulled up to his stop, he ran off of it and right into his grandma’s arms. She was one of the very few parents or guardians who actually bothered to wait at the bus stop; most of them didn’t want to stand out in the cold, so they would either wait to drive up until the bus left, or they would simply have their kids walk home if they were close enough. 

“How was school today, sweetie?” his grandma cooed in a voice that felt like honey. It was always able to wash away his worries, and as they walked home, he was able to forget about the ever-pressing worry that he was hallucinating. 

“It was okay!” he chimed, jumping over a pile of snow on the sidewalk, only to slip on a patch of ice when he landed. His breath caught in his throat as he anticipated his butt hitting the sidewalk full-force, only for his hand to be grabbed in an instant by his grandma, catching him before he fell. 

“Are you alright?” she cooed, though she didn’t stop walking, having been confronted by Virgil last month about babying him out in public. 

“Yeah,” he mumbled, heat rising in his cheeks as he hunched his shoulders until the lower half of his face was hidden behind his scarf. His shoulder hurt a little from being yanked, but he was glad that she had stopped him from falling. His pride hurt more than anything, but he knew logically that it wouldn’t last. 

It didn’t take long before they walked into their house - a small two bedroom ranch-style house that somehow always managed to give Virgil the same feeling as eating a home-cooked meal or drinking hot chocolate after a long day of snowball fights. It was just… warm. 

“Gramma, can I talk to you about something?” Virgil asked as he hung up his coat and scarf, his earlier embarrassment forgotten. 

“Of course,” she replied simply. It always amazed Virgil how she never got anxious when he started a conversation like that, but as soon as she did the same to him, he was filled with an undeniable, inexplicable sense of panic. 

“Earlier today,” he started, taking a seat on the couch, “when I was in class, I saw this… thing on my arm. It looked like… almost like… paint?” He rolled up his sleeve to show his grandma the spot where it had been, even though he knew it wasn’t there anymore. “My arm got all tingly and stuff, but then when I looked again later, it was gone.”

“Ohhh,” his grandma nodded in understanding, taking a seat beside him. “Virgil, sweetie, that’s just your soulmate. I guess now is as good a time as any to give you that talk,” she chuckled, such a sweet sound that brushed away his worries. “You know how I told you not to draw on your skin?”

He nodded, remembering the conversation they had had last year when Virgil had doodled all over his skin rather than paying attention to his homework. 

“Well, that’s because everything that happens on your skin happens on theirs, too. Every time you fall and skin your knees, every time you get marker or paint on your hands, every time you get a bruise. And it’s there for them as long as it’s on your skin. Since the paint is gone from  your arm, that just means your soulmate washed it off. No big deal. Their art class probably just ended is all.”

“What’s a soulmate?” he asked curiously, cocking his head to the side. He had heard the word before, of course, on television and in movies, but had never had it explained to him and was always too nervous to ask. 

“It’s one person - or multiple people - that you’re meant to spend the rest of your life with. Normally it’s as partners, you would get married to them, but sometimes it’s just as friends.”

“But…” His brows pulled together. That made him more confused than he had been before he had known. “I don’t get it. Someone meant to be with me? How do I know?”

“Well, you see, the universe - or God, if you believe in that - saw that person, or those people, and thought that they would be a perfect fit for you, so you were paired with them.”

It seemed almost too good to be true, and he had learned in his short years on this earth that if something seemed too good to be true, it most likely was. After his parents had died in a car accident a few years ago, leaving him to be raised by his grandma, Virgil had stopped believing in the fairy tales that claimed happily ever after. 

That was all they were, he came to realize. 

Fairy tales. 

“Were my parents soulmates?” he asked after a moment. 

Sadness flitted over her face at the mention of them, and Virgil inwardly cursed himself for bringing them up. He hadn’t done so since shortly after the funeral. It was just better - easier - to not talk about them. It caused less pain in the long run. 

But she nodded, the sadness dissolving from her face as she forced a smile to her lips.  

“And you and grandpa?”

Another nod.

“Then… then how come he died if you two were perfect together?”

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she grabbed a tissue from the coffee table, dabbing at her eyes before they had the chance to fall. “I don’t know, Virgil. But I’m sure it was for a good reason.”

He didn’t believe it. 

He couldn’t.

There was no way he would believe that any of this could be real.

Soulmates - the idea that there was someone who was supposed to be perfect for you. It seemed insane. The fantasies of a child. There was no way that whoever this soulmate was was going to be perfect for him. There was no way. People had differences, and they argued, and they fought. And if they didn’t, one or both of them died. 

Virgil didn’t want anything to do with the person who was supposedly “perfect” for him. 

He didn’t want to chance the pain his grandma went through when his grandpa died. 

He didn’t want to get his heart broken the way she did.