Chapter Text
Virgil was seven when the first mark appeared. A bit of a late bloomer, his dads would always joke.
Virgil rocked back and forth of his feet as he waited for Papa to pick out fruit. His gaze wandered across the store. He was bored.
“Can I ride in the cart, Papa?” he asked suddenly, gripping the side of the basket.
Papa looked up from the apple he was inspecting. Virgil tried not to stick his tongue out. He didn’t like apples, even if his dads said they were good for him. “I think you’re getting a bit too big for that, Virge,” Papa said, his tone cool, even. Virgil had never heard Papa shout; he was always quiet, much quieter than Dad, who laughed and talked in what Virgil’s teachers called the “outside voice”.
“I’m not too big!” Virgil protested loudly, his volume dropping when Papa lowered a look at him. He crossed his arms.“Dad can still pick me up.”
“Well,” Papa smiled a bit. “I’m not Dad, am I?”
Virgil contemplated his words before shaking his head. “You are a dad, Papa.”
Papa chuckled, just as quiet as his voice. He set down the apple and adjusted his glasses. They were wire-framed and silver, always slipping down his nose.
Dad always teased Papa about his glasses, tugging them off his face and running away to hide them somewhere. Papa always pretended to be upset about it, but Virgil knew he wasn’t. He helped Papa find them most of the time. Dad acted sad when they did find them. “I just wanted to see Papa’s eyes,” he would cry out dramatically.
Papa always kissed him to shut him up and Virgil always said “Yuck!”.
“Arms out,” Papa said and Virgil complied. “And up we go!”
With a grunt, Papa lifted Virgil into the air and dropped him down into the shopping cart. Virgil squealed when the cold metal brushed against his legs. “There,” Papa wiped off his hands and grinned at Virgil. “Wasn’t sure I’d make it!”
When Papa held out his hand for a high five, Virgil didn’t hesitate. But then his Papa’s expression had gone from happy to confused to happy in a split second. Virgil started to lower his hand in confusion, but Papa caught it. That was when Virgil noticed the little light blue marks on the back of his hand.
“Your soulmark!” Papa exclaimed. “It appeared!”
Virgil knew about soulmarks, of course he did. Everyone did.
He thought they looked like the paint splatters he sometimes got on his hands after art. They were bright and colorful, laid out in different patterns. Sometimes, they were small, barely noticeable. A backwards handprint on a palm or little spots on the inside of a wrist. Others were large and odd. A ring encircling a waist, an entire arm painted as if someone ran into them. But the reason for them was undeniable. Soulmarks were the first touch of a soulmate and, Virgil knew, when contact was made, the mark faded to white.
It was fate’s way of giving everyone a chance at happiness. At least, that’s what everyone told him.
Papa turned Virgil’s hand towards him gently, showing him the light blue splotch covering most of his palm. Virgil couldn’t help but be a little disappointed. He always wondered what his soulmark would be. Who didn’t? All of the exciting stories they could make. Like his dads.
Virgil couldn’t see Papa’s soulmark, but he knew it was there, stark white, under his shirt. A handprint on his shoulder where Dad first touched him to stop him from running into a pole. Papa had had his face buried in a book and missed the approaching obstacle.
It was one of Virgil’s favorite stories.
“It’s just a handshake,” Virgil said, unable to stop his disappointment.
Papa let go of his hand, a little furrow in his brow. “What’s wrong with that, little cloud?” he asked.
“It’s so boring,” Virgil muttered. “I want something cool, like you and Dad.”
Papa laughed and laughed. He continued to laugh until everyone was looking at them. Virgil ducked his head, feeling a little embarrassed. When Papa finally stopped, he placed his hands on Virgil’s shoulders, his lips quirking into a smile. “Your Dad thought the exact same thing about his.”
“He did?” Virgil asked. He found that hard to believe, but then he remembered what Dad’s soulmark was. His entire right palm, fingers and all, was white. “Oh.”
“See?” Papa said, his smile growing. “Soulmarks are a beautiful thing, Virge. No soulmate story is boring.”
“Okay,” Virgil said, staring down at the blue splatter. He looked up at his Papa with a grin. “I can’t wait to shake their hand!”
“Me either. Now,” Papa looked around before turning back to him with a mischievous look. Virgil called it his “Cheshire Cat” smile. “How about we get some ice cream to celebrate? And we’ll pull Dad away from work.”
“Yeah!” Virgil exclaimed, his soulmark all but forgotten with the promise of ice cream. “Can we get strawberry?”
“Of course, little cloud.”
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Virgil didn’t get ice cream for the second one.
It was two days after he got his soulmark and he was feeling a little bit tired. He wouldn’t admit to it, but he’d spent most of the night before trying to see if he could talk to his soulmate through the mark. It was a silly idea. He’d never heard of anyone being able to do that, but he still tried.
He dragged himself to the bathroom, rubbing at his eyes. He gave himself the barest glance in the mirror. Then he stopped, touching the side of his face.
The mark was red, the color of a fire truck, and it almost looked like a rectangle if not for the four little bumps on the edge. Virgil knew this one. It was the same one that Tío Nicandro had, though his had been pale pink before he met Tía Rachel. Tía punched Tío in the face when they first met. Virgil found it funny whenever he heard the story, so he shrugged it off.
He didn’t quite understand what it meant to have two soulmarks.
So, when he hopped downstairs and Papa looked up from the breakfast he was cooking, he thought nothing of it. He just grinned, hoping to make a game of who noticed the red mark first.
“What’s on your face, Virge?” Papa asked. Winner, winner! “Did you get paint on yourself again?”
Virgil shook his head, suddenly a little shy. Maybe he’d get ice cream for breakfast for this soulmark! He really hoped so.
Dad looked up from his book, laughing loudly and shaking his head. “What’d we tell you about painting in your room?” he said, his tone light.
He got up and wet a paper towel to wipe it off. When it didn’t come off, both of his dads stopped, their faces completely slack. Virgil felt like they stared at him for a hundred years.
“Dads!” he shouted when he noticed the smoke coming from the eggs.
“ Shit ,” Papa hissed and threw the pan into the sink before wrenching on the water.
The smoke alarm went off not a second later and his dads went scrambling to turn it off and stop the burning. Virgil just clamped his hands over his ears, wondering what distracted Papa. Papa never got distracted while cooking.
After things calmed down and Papa made some cinnamon toast for Virgil, they both sat down at the table. Dad checked his hand, where his blue soulmark still was, and Papa tilted his head this way and that to make quadruple sure that it wasn’t some kind of ink or paint.
“Are there any other ones?” Papa finally asked.
They stepped back to let Virgil eat and he watched in confusion as Dad left, his phone in hand.
“Uh,” he looked back at Papa, who watched him patiently. “No? I don’t think so?”
“Okay,” Papa’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “Okay, good.”
Good? Was having two soulmarks bad ? Why would it be bad?
Papa glanced over at the clock on the microwave and stood. “We need to get you ready for school,” he said. His gaze dropped down to Virgil’s red mark. “Maybe… Maybe you should wear gloves.”
“Wear gloves?” Virgil asked, confused. All he felt right now was a bunch of confusion. It was the middle of May. No one wore gloves in May.
“Yes,” Papa said. “All day. Like, like Mickey Mouse!”
He knew that Papa was just trying to make him feel better, so Virgil nodded. He was a little disappointed; he’d been hoping to show off his two soulmarks to his friends. Bit Virgil always (maybe not always) listened to his dads.
“Good,” Papa smiled for the first time since Virgil came downstairs. He walked towards where Dad had disappeared. “Alejandro! Can you find Virgil’s gloves?!”
_____________________
Virgil tried not to listen, he really did, but his curiosity got the best of him. He tiptoed over to the entrance that separated the living room from the kitchen and leaned against the wall. It was late, like really super late and Virgil knew he was supposed to be in bed, but he just got so thirsty.
He never expected his dads to be up this late.
But he could hear them, just barely whispering in the living room. They’d both stayed home from work that day, he knew. Well, Dad worked from home, but he had taken the day off. He only knew that because they picked him up from school, instead of having him ride the bus like he usually did.
Virgil was a smart kid. He knew when something was upsetting his dads. He’d spent most of the night trying to make them laugh, even going so far as to offer to play a board game with them. And Virgil hated board games. But they’d refused and they tucked him in early for the night.
Now they were whispering in the living room at way too late at night.
“Abuela said it was bad luck,” Dad said. Virgil had never heard Dad be so quiet before. “That the red mark is a devil’s mark.”
Virgil stilled. He’d only been to church a handful of times, but he knew very well who the devil was. And that he was a very, very bad thing.
“Your grandmother always exaggerates things, AJ,” Papa responded. He sounded tired and Virgil couldn’t blame him. He was still really tired too.
“But what if she’s right, James? What if our son is cursed by the devil?”
“You don’t even believe in the devil.”
A pause. Virgil held his breath. “Right,” Dad sighed. “You’re right, like always.”
“Of course I am. Come sit down, mi corazón , and let’s talk about this rationally.”
Virgil heard their old couch creak as Dad sat down. There were several moments of silence before Papa spoke again. “Now, having two soulmarks might seem wrong-”
Virgil stood up. He’d heard all he needed to hear. He climbed the stairs as quietly as possible and wiggled himself into bed, his thirst forgotten.
_____________________
The third and last soulmark appeared on his shoulder the next day. This one was a dark blue stain with no discernible shape. He shoved down the excitement he felt when he saw it. If two was bad, then three… Three was terrible. And Virgil didn’t want to be terrible. He wanted to be good.
So he tugged on a t-shirt and decided not to tell anyone. Ever.
When he went downstairs, only Papa was there, once again cooking breakfast. This time, there were no eggs. He looked up as Virgil entered. “Good morning, little cloud,” he said with a soft, tired smile. “Dad was really tired this morning, so he’s sleeping in.”
Virgil wanted to believe that was true, but what if Dad just didn’t want to see him? He sat down and poured himself some orange juice. The air felt weird and icky, so he just stayed quiet, tracing circles in their kitchen table.
Papa sat down not too long after, putting a plate of food in front of Virgil. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Papa cleared his throat. Virgil jumped at the sudden sound. “You know Dad and I love you, right?” Papa said softly. He sounded sad.
Virgil nodded, still staring at the table. He waited for the “but”. It didn’t come. Papa didn’t say anything else. He just cleaned up their half-eaten food and sent Virgil upstairs to get ready for school.
Even so, when Virgil left for school, he tugged his fluffy purple gloves on and made sure his dark blue blob was hidden away. And he went out into the world as a boy with only one soulmate.