Chapter Text
“Excuse me, sir, could you tell me where the books on soulmates are?” A girl asked him. She had frog earrings and a nervous smile.
“Yeah, they’re right over there,” Roman said, pointing to the center of the bookshop. Right in the middle of it was the display on soulmates, with the centerpiece being the latest novel on why soulmates were the most beautiful part of the human experience.
Roman resisted the urge to roll his eyes every time he looked at it. He thought donuts were the best part of the human experience, but that was an unpopular opinion.
He fiddled with the bracelets on his wrists and decided to take another lap around the store collecting books customers had just left around in the wrong sections of the store. He didn’t see why someone would shove a romance novel in the military history section, but he was too tired to judge. He just wanted to get home to the next Percy Jackson novel and a bottle of rootbeer.
He plugged his earbuds in and started sorting pens into the right containers. Roman couldn’t focus on anything without music. Company policy said he couldn’t wear them, but his manager Janus always seemed to turn a blind eye. Janus didn’t care about anything, but that was more than okay with Roman. He didn’t like managers who asked too many questions. Roman was running out of things to say when people asked about his soulmate.
Maybe he’d just start naming Disney Princes and wait for them to figure it out.
The pity had gotten old when he reached third grade, but no one seemed to care. One of the many reasons Roman was a steadfast believer in books are better than people. Books let him be the nosy one for the first time.
“Attention customers,” Janus shouted, “We will be closing in 15 minutes, so please make your way to check out unless you want to hear me sing 80’s pop songs,”
Roman rolled his eyes. He was pretty sure Janus could get anything since his dad owned the store. Roman had seen his dad around a few times, and he didn’t give a shit about books. He was strict and looked for a little too long.
Janus on the other hand, Roman liked Janus. He would never admit it, but he loved that Janus picked up Roman coffee and liked talking about true crime. Janus liked books, and Roman liked people who like books. Janus was probably the closest person Roman had to a friend.
After all the customers had checked out of the store, Janus tossed Roman a Kit Kat, “I’ll go right, you go left,”
Roman nodded and went to the left side of the store, picking up trash, straightening books, making sure the displays were set for the next morning as Janus took the other side of the store. Roman couldn’t stop yawning as he got to the back.
“Night Ro,” Janus called.
“See you tomorrow Reptillian Rapscallion,” Roman said, exiting the bookstore.
He slides away from the store and falls right in step with the rest of the city. The lights blare and music is coming from the homeless man on the curb with the guitar. His music is warm and loud and the cold air he puffs out is irrelevant. Roman adores the city more than anything. It’s the best place he’s ever been, even when it’s a total shithole. There was something about the freedom and the lights and the anonymity of it all that Roman could never stay away from.
He quickly bounces down the stairs into the subway. He swipes his metro pass, pretending he got it to work on the first try and leans against the tiled wall as he waits for the train to come.
Five minutes later, the familiar, “Please watch the gap and stand clear of the closing door,” blares of the intercom and Roman shoves himself onto the car with the rest of the city’s tired workforce. The cries of kids and groans of workers are drowned out by Taylor’s latest album. Roman keeps his eyes on the window and silently counts the stops until he reaches his stop.
He politely pushes himself to the doors and makes his way back up the stairs, then he walks three blocks and one avenue over to his apartment building. He jams the key into the lock and pushes it.
He’s been living here for three years but he will always groan at the five floors of stairs he has to walk up every night.
He starks the trek up, and with every flight, he snaps and even more colorful words. By the time he gets to the top, the only thought in his mind is collapsing on his couch.
The big flyer pinned to his door reading “evection notice, final warning!” stop in his tracks.
“What the fuck?” Roman says loudly.
Since when was he getting evicted? Is this why he was supposed to read his mail? He twisted the key in and let the door slam behind him. He drops his backpack on to the ground and makes a beeline for his giant mail pile and dug through it.
There it was, the eviction letter delivered almost two weeks ago. Roman skimmed it as fast as he could, he couldn’t see any reason why he would be evicted. He paid rent on time, he wasn’t loud, he had lived here for three years with no issues. Then he got to the bottom. It said he’d been kicked out because he wasn’t a “good fit,”
Ah.
Shit.
It was those stupid Xs on his wrists again wasn’t it? Every single time. He thought they were done ruining his life, but suddenly he was 14 again.
He flopped down onto the couch and powered up his laptop. Craigslist better have something good, and it better be fast
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“What can I get for you?” Patton said, trying to keep the weariness out of his voice.
“Could I get a vanilla frappuccino?” The girl in front of him said dryly, not looking up from her phone.
“Sure,” Patton said, “That’ll be 5.99”
The girl handed him the cash after Patton rang her up, and he went over to the blenders to make her drink. Geez, he was the only one on shift and he hated making the frappuccinos. They took forever, and something about the loud blaring of the blenders made Patton’s head feel like it was exploding.
Some of the creams splashed onto his sleeve and Patton closed his eyes for a second. He wished so badly that he could wear short sleeves to work, but that was the quickest way to get HR to fire him. Starbucks policy allowed employees to show off their soul marks if they wanted, and plenty of his coworkers took them up on their offer, but Patton didn’t. He didn’t have soul marks, he soulless scars. And the difference was so incredibly important.
He grabbed a napkin and tried to dab at the stain, but it was too late. Just his luck.
He turned the blender off and poured the creamy liquid into a medium-sized cup. He shook the can of whipped cream and quickly sprayed a swirl of it on top, and then gently added the cap. He stuck a straw in and slid it across the counter to the girl. She nodded in thanks and then bell above the door jingled as she made her exit.
Patton sighed and tapped his fingers against the counter. He checked his phone. His shift ended in fifteen minutes. He grabbed a rag and started wiping down the counters. He rinsed out the blenders and organized the cups by height. Before it was time for him to go he made himself an iced vanilla cold brew and watched the birds fly by.
When the clock hit 4:30 Patton grabbed his backpack and headed out of the store. He walked down the streets, making sure to stop at every crosslight, unlike most people, and made his way to the first bus he had to take to get to the shelter. He boarded the bus, handed the driver 3.65, and sat down in the back. As the bus started to move he watched the buildings fly by and the people become tiny.
Then he got on another bus. And then another, and then finally, when the sun had crawled below the buildings, Patton got off a bus for the last time that night. The shelter was only 5 blocks away. Five long painful blocks where anything could happen. Patton couldn’t afford to go to the hospital, or miss work. He just had to keep his head high and keep walking. Super easy right?
Patton kept walking past the flickering streetlights, and he didn’t stop, even when the looming figures got closer.
“Hey Peta,” One of them shouted.
Patton kept his eyes on the road, begging every inch of himself not to show fear. Showing fear always made it worse.
“Peta, I’m talking to you,” Another one growled, coming up on his left side
That’s not my name
He felt himself hit a brick wall, hard, and the world spun around him. He vaguely realized there was a sticky liquid dripping from the back of his right shoulder.
“Should we be scared Peta?” one whispered in his ear, “is your soulmate going to come and save you?”
His head hurt. He just wanted to leave.
“Oh wait, that’s right,” He said, “you don’t have a soulmate, do you?” He didn’t wait for a response before his friends started laughing. Patton’s chest felt like it was on fire.
The laughter got louder and louder and hands pushed and punched him like he was a doll a child got sick of. Patton was so tired.
Once he overheard a girl in the mall ask her father why someone would hate soulmates.
Right now, bleeding out in an alleyway, Patton can think of a few reasons.
He lets himself sit there until the streetlight across from him flickers five times, and then he makes himself get up, and walk the final block to the shelter.
He reaches the old building and stares at the door. He doesn’t know if he even has the strength to open it. Somehow he does though, he forces himself to pull the door open, even if his arms feel like spaghetti. He does it anyway, because if he doesn’t, who will.
He slowly pulls the door open and steps into the shelter. Sounds immediately fills his ears. A few men are playing cards in the corner. Volunteers are handing out food, and a few people are resting. Just a typical day. When Patton walks in, no one stops what they’re doing, people coming in with injuries is just a regular Tuesday for workers here.
Patton walks over to the dorms and puts his bag onto his bed, then he grabs his shower stuff, and heads to the showers.
He finds an empty stall and lets the lukewarm water run over his damaged skin. He hasn’t felt hot water in a long few weeks, but he’s gotten used to it. He scrubs the dollar store shampoo through his hair and closes his eyes. He never really has time to relax, but showers have always been a good five minutes of his day to do so. After his watch timer goes off Patton shuts off the water and wraps his towel around his body, and then grabs his stuff. He exits the showers and gets changed. He throws on his old high school t-shirt and heads back to the dorms.
But as he’s walking down the hallway, he finds himself drawn to the rent listening board. He knows rechecking it is pointless, but he can’t himself. He would love to find himself a place, but everything is just so expensive. Politicians seem to think minimum wage and a living wage are the same things. Patton can say with certainty that they’re not.
But this listing, the one that says 500 dollars a month, with three roommates doesn’t seem that bad. Patton is so used to sharing space that it would be an upgrade. And it’s not in a terrible neighborhood. More importantly, it’s far far away from here. They won’t be able to find him on the other side of the city.
Patton digs out his phone from his bag and calls the number on the flyer.
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Virgil probably should be sleeping right about now. It’s just past 3 am and all the lights on the street are shut off, except for the old lights in the 24-hour diner he’s currently sketching in. The kid working the night shift fell asleep right after making Virgil a chocolate milkshake, so the only noises in the joint are the whirring of the heater in the back and the quiet scribbling of Virgil’s pencil against paper.
The booth isn’t comfortable, and the cheap metal table rocks every other second. Virgil knows his desk back home is a much better workspace. He can’t get much worse than this, but he doesn’t want to go home. Back in his tiny apartment, the walls are getting smaller and smaller and Virgil can’t breathe when he tries to sleep. He didn’t see the point of staying in his apartment, and he lived in a city, there was always something open at 3 am, even if it was just a 24-hour diner with two stars on yelp.
Virgil took another sip of his milkshake. Considering how low his expectations were, it wasn’t bad. There was something about winter that made milkshakes so much better. Or maybe he was just a gay mess. Probably both.
His pencil slipped and then suddenly the eye he was working on had a line straight through it. Virgil resisted the urge to slam his head against the table. This was why people didn’t draw at 3 am. The commission wasn’t even supposed to be ready for another week. Everyone was asleep right now. Even the high schooler behind the counter was passed out.
Virgil just couldn't sleep. He didn’t want to go home, he didn’t want to be here; he didn’t want to see his mom. He fiddled with the strings of his oversize hoodie and fiddled with his straw. Suddenly he felt tired. His hoodie was warm and cozy, and the diner was so open and quiet. His eyelids fluttered closed, but before he could drift off, his phone started ringing.
Virgil jerked awake and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He would’ve declined the call, but it was his mom, and Virgil never had the heart to ignore her. He swiped his phone open and brought it to his ear.
“Hi sweetheart,” His mom said. Her voice still had that usual warmness to it, but it also had an edge of fear. Virgil sat up straighter.
“Hi mom,” Virgil said, “Is everything ok?”
“Wow getting right to it aren’t we?” She said with a laugh, and Virgil smiled a little.
“you know me, my filter goes away after 8:30”
“Yeah I know,” His mom said, and he could hear tapping on the other side of the line, “Look I know it’s stupid but I just, I need to know, are you safe?”
Oh. It was one of those nights.
“Yeah, mom I’m safe. I’m working on commissions at the 24-hour diner across from my apartment. There’s no one except a sleeping high schooler here. I have a knife in my pocket and a taser in my bag like always. I’m ok,” Virgil rattled off, knowing the extra facts helped his mom when she couldn’t stop checking the locks.
“I know that,” she grumbled, “I know that, I know you’re safe, I know I’m safe it’s just…”
“Hard to remember?”
“Yeah.”
“I get it,” Virgil said, tapping his fingers nervously against his glass, “Sometimes I just can’t be in my apartment without feeling like I’m never going to be able to leave.”
His mom hummed sympathetically, “So that’s why you’re sitting in a shitty diner booth at 3 am stormcloud”
Virgil was planning on shutting up for the rest of the call, but the exhaustion and the nickname wore him down, “yeah. It...it feels like the closet,”
“Have you thought about moving?”
Virgil snorted, “Yeah, I have the money, but no one would approve me for an apartment,”
“Sons of bitches,” his mom muttered,” Look if they don’t drop their superstitious bullshit, you won’t be the only one with scars on your wrists.”
“Mom!”
“I’m kidding! kidding...unless?”
“You cannot just maim most of the city’s landlords mom!”
“Says who?”
“Oh my god,” Virgil said, trying to hold in his laughter.
“What about getting some roommates?” His mom suggested after she finished giggling.
“You do realize who you’re talking to right?” Virgil deadpanned.
“I know, but don’t you think it would help? Having more rooms and less silence,”
“Wow...that uh might help actually,” Virgil said, surprised.
“I know you stormcloud,” His mom said, “Thanks for talking to me, It helped, I’m gonna try and sleep now okay?”
“Ok,” Virgil said.
“I love you,”
“Love you too mom,” Virgil said, and then the line went dead.
Virgil grabbed his phone and sketchbook, left a ten-dollar bill on the counter, and left the diner. He walked across the street, not bothering to check the cross light, and walked the seven flights up the stairs, even though the elevator was right there. When he got back in his apartment, he spent the entire night looking at listings.
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There was no point in sugarcoating it. Logan couldn’t pay rent anymore.
He sat on the park bench and tried not to let the panic become all-consuming. They were having a normal Saturday in the winter. Playing games on the playgrounds and drinking hot cocoa. The children marveled at the way the tiny snowflakes danced to the ground. They were probably fantasizing about snow days and sleeping in.
Logan was thinking about how the scars on his wrist denied him government benefits. The world was unfair, that was a lesson he had learned years ago, but it really pissed him off sometimes. He pulled his sleeves down a little further and hated every second of it.
The woman sitting on the bench across from him was getting stopped every three seconds to receive compliments on the soul mark visible on her left eye. It was bright purple and it reached from the edge of her left eyebrow to the tip of her left nostril. When a person with a light trenchcoat sat down next to her, the mark lit up and swirled, and she researched over to kiss the newcomer on the cheek. They laughed together and Logan wanted to scream
Logan knew it was irrational to hate soulmates. It wasn’t their fault they had marks, just like it wasn’t his fault he had scars. But it was so hard when none of them acknowledged their privilege and treated him like a child.
He took another sip of his water bottle and tried to recompose himself. There had to be another solution he just wasn’t seeing. But he couldn’t see straight right now and he hated it. Feelings were the bane of his existence. It was 5 pm, which meant the sun was about to set. When the sun set, the stars came out, and Logan didn’t want to see a single one. Especially not today.
He picks up his water bottle and stands up, leaving the two soulmates across from him to their date before he says something that might land him in jail.
He slides his headphones on, puts on AC/DC, and turns the volume up a little too high. Logan makes sure not to step on the tiny cracks that litter the sidewalk as he moves. He doesn’t really know where he’s going, but he ignores that. He’s already been illogical today, what’s a little more?
Logan walks and he walks and he walks and he never looks up. It’s getting darker and darker and he has no clue where he is. He wants to go back to his apartment but he knows that his landlord will ask for the cash and when he doesn’t have any to give it will be too embarrassing. He might even have to quit his job and he doesn’t want to do that. He likes his job, he likes working with cars. He’s always understood cars more than he understands people. Cars can’t see the Xs on his wrists.
Snowflakes gather on his bangs and a few fall onto his nose. Logan waves his hand through the air, catching a few snowflakes as he does it. They’re cold against his fingers. Logan breathes out and watches the cold air slowly disappear into the night sky. It took him 40 entire minutes to realize because of the snowstorm he wouldn’t be able to see the stars, and it’s nice to be able to look at the sky without them. Even if everything falls apart tomorrow it’s nice to have this one quiet night in the snow.
Things were good once, they can be good again. Logan knows that. He also knows that his good is most people’s bad.
He finally takes a second to look at where he is. Despite the snow, he is 97% sure that the sign by the corner he’s standing at reads 67th street. Luckily his apartment is only a few blocks away.
Logan starts walking and smiles a little bit at the way the snow crunches under his feet. He twirls his keys around his fingers and lets the strumming of an electric guitar drown out his thoughts.
After a few minutes of walking past buildings, Logan finally spots the one that belongs to him. He twists the key into the lock of his door after leaving his boots outside. His apartment is tiny, and Logan likes it that way. It’s like his own tiny cave where no one can get in. There are blankets everywhere and tools on just about every surface. He’s more attached to this place than he’s willing to admit. It’s the first place he’s been able to call home.
Logan never gets to keep that feeling. Not as a kid, and not as an adult.
A tear slips free and Logan wipes it away as soon as it falls. He doesn’t have time for this, he needs to make a plan. He doesn’t brush his teeth or change clothes before bed like he usually does. He just collapses into his mattress and tries to think. He grabs onto one of his stuffed animals and runs his hands through its soft faux fur.
The perfect plan hits him right before he’s about to doze off. He should get roommates. It’s so simple, so obvious, of course, he missed it.
He doesn’t sleep a wink that night until he finds it. The perfect place. He stumbles across it at 4:58 am. It’s 500 dollars a month, in a nice neighborhood, and best of all, it’s only a few blocks away from the workshop. There are four other roommates, and the next morning when Logan walks to work he wonders what they’re like.