Archive of Our Own

His soulmate was sitting by the counter.

Sam had just gasped out loud at the sight, and the Knox had given him a weird look and gone back to his newspaper.

So Sam gasped again.

Another weird look; Sam gasped once more.

No recognition.

Shit. Quick, he needed a reason to have gasped – newspaper, was it an article? Something on the wall behind him? No, wait –

“Oh, wow!” Sam exclaimed, running up to the not-quite-stranger. “Look at this!” He plopped his briefcase onto the floor nest to the Knox’. “We’re briefcase buddies! It’s like finding a matching snowflake!”

Not the briefcase, admittedly, but just casually stumbling over his soulmate like this? Now, that was something special.

“It’s an unremarkable attaché sold in most major stores,” said the Knox, clearly not agreeing with him.

“And we both bought it!” Sam hopped onto the stool beside him, unable to keep the grin off his face. He’d found him. He’d found him. When was the last time they’d stumbled over each other like this? A lifetime ago? Two? “Plus,” he rambled on, “to end up sitting next to each other like this? I mean, wow. I’m just gonna say, wow!”

The Knox, rather impolitely, turned back to his newspaper.

Sam cleared his throat and peered over the edge of it. “I’m Sam, by the way. Sam I-Am, of the Glurfsburg I-Am’s. What’s your handle, buddy?”

A name. A full name, please. That was all he needed to find him again, even if he rejected him now.

The Knox huffed.

“Grumph,” Sam repeated, trying to coax his real name out of him. “I like it. Is that with one ‘rumph’, or two?”

Donna, that sweet woman, interrupted to take Sam’s order. When she called into the kitchen, though – “Green eggs and ham!” – he caught a muffled ‘ugh’ from the only other patron in the diner. He blinked, gaping up at him for a few seconds before catching on.

Was he wrong? Mistaken, somehow, for the first time ever? No, surely not…

“You… you don’t like green eggs and ham?”

“No!” the Knox scoffed. “I do not like them, Sam I-Am! I don’t like green eggs and ham.”

“Understood,” said Sam softly, turning aside. “No further queries necessary.” His soulmate’s favourite dish had always been green eggs and ham. Always, without fail. Except for… “Have you ever tried them before?”

The Knox sighed. “No.”

“Well then! How can you know you don’t like them if you’ve never tried them? Come on, they’re delicious!”

But despite Sam’s best efforts, the Knox refused to try even a single bite of his supposed favourite food – and without the reassurance of familiarity, the certainty that this was his soulmate slipped more with each passing minute.

It had to be, though. Right? Didn’t it?

Despite the Knox sharing nothing about himself during their brief interaction, Sam learned this:

• he was an inventor
• he had failed
• his self-image was at an all-time low
• and his name was Guy

That was enough to go on. A failed inventor called Guy – Sam could find him again, should he need to – no worries at all.

*

Sam was worried. Sam was super worried! Somehow, his possible-soulmate Guy Am-I had grabbed the wrong suitcase and ran off with the chickeraffe Sam was getting paid good money for relocating.

Guy was in high danger as long as that chickeraffe was connected to his name. Even if he wasn’t Sam’s soulmate, he was still an innocent bystander and did not deserve his name sullied by the law just because of some silly mix-up.

Good thing Guy was honourable enough to return the briefcase to Sam – he’d heard the commotion going on outside his door, peered out the window in time to see the infamous agent McWinkle looming over his possible-soulmate, and rushed to the rescue when things went south.

It was nice, seeing Guy – shocked, but alive – willingly climbing over himself to get into Sam’s car. Well, not Sam’s car, and it was to escape the BADGUYS, but, you know, still.

“Oh, wow, Guy!” Sam called, laughing as he spun the wheel in a harsh turn to Desert Highway. “No need to bounce around like that just ‘cuz you’re happy to see me!”

“You,” Guy grunted, in-between having his face smashed against every possible surface in the front seat, “have. Not. Let me put – on – my – seatbelt!”

“Oh!” Sam reached over and buckled him in. “My bad, travel buddy. Can’t slow down, got those BADGUYS hot on our tails, yee-owch.” Which reminded him to make a quick detour to the backseat to let the poor chickeraffe out of its briefcase.

Guy yelped, pressing himself flat against the window. Wide-eyed, he cried, “no, no, no! Don’t let it out!”

“Oh, c’mon, the poor thing doesn’t deserve to be stuck in there!” Sam put on his own seatbelt, smiling as the chickeraffe licked Guy straight in the face. “And he has a name, you know. I just haven’t decided yet!”

“Why do you even have it?”

Time to deploy the lies. It just wouldn’t do to meet his probable-soulmate and hit it off with the opening line, hey, I’m a criminal! “I’m a wildlife protector, my good Guy! Those BADGUYS are tryin’a sell the Big Fella to a collector.”

“Oh,” said Guy, sinking into his seat with a grim look. “How great.”

“Anyway – where ya headed to, travel buddy?”

“Meepville. To be a paint watcher.”

Right, Sam had seen him circle the ad for it in the newspaper – but he was an inventor, failed or not! Destined for greatness, no? His soulmate would never settle for a paint watching job. “Paint watcher! How fun!” he nonetheless said. “Fun, fun, fun.”

Guy growled at him. “Let me out. Right here. Now!”

Oops.

Sam slowed the car, letting Guy unbuckle himself and hop on out. “You sure about this? It’s preeeettyyy far too Meepville…”

“Yes,” Guy snapped. “Leave me alone.”

“Right,” said Sam, “so we’ll just exchange contact information then, yes?”

“No.”

“Right, right. A goodbye-hug?”

“No.”

“Of course, yes – a handshake, then with plans to meet up when – ”

“No!” Guy cried.

Wow, three no’s in a row. He could hold his own, that’s for sure – Sam hummed to himself, moving back into the driver’s seat. Could he be his soulmate? They shared so many traits… and yet…

The chickeraffe made a soft clucking sound as they drove off.

“I know, Big Fella,” said Sam, patting him on the head. “But I can’t just drag him with me everywhere! He’ll slow me down. I’ll find him when we’re done here, don’t you worry.”

The chickeraffe squawked.

“Oh, fine! I’ll pick him up if no one else does. You drive a mean bargain, mister.”

*

Three hours later Sam was humming to himself, the air-condition roaring and a seriously dehydrated Guy gulping down any liquid he could get his hands on. “You hungry?” Sam asked, to which Guy gave him a miserable look that could mean both yes and no. Smiling innocently, Sam held up a plate of green eggs and ham.

Guy groaned and turned away.

“You suuuuure? They’re really good in a car.”

“Just because I’m coming with you to Meepville,” Guy muttered, “does not mean you can pester me into eating that horrid thing.”

Sam shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

A good three hours later, Sam interrupted Guy’s nap to say, “I’m driving the car off that cliff there, so if you don’t wanna take a swim, you should probably get out.”

Guy made a sound very similar to the chickeraffe’s squawks. “Drive – wh – why are you driving the car off a cliff?”

“It’s not mine,” said Sam.

“SO!?”

“The BADGUYS can trace it! Duh.” Sam unbuckled his seatbelt. “Anyway, I’m getting out now. Good luck!”

Guy gasped, tugging on his own belt. “Wait – ”

Tumbling over the grass, Sam tucked close by the chickeraffe to ensure it stayed safe. It wasn’t long before Guy followed, stumbling over himself with a pained yelp. He looked terrified, the poor sod, as he staggered onto his knees and gaped after the wild car.

“Timber!” called Sam, cupping a hand behind his ear –

Splash!

“Hole-in-one!”

“I don’t think you know what any of those words mean,” said Guy.

“And I don’t think you know how to have fun.” Sam booped his nose, laughing as he clambered to his feet. “C’mon! We can’t sit here all day, we’re gonna miss the train.”

“Train?” Guy scowled, clambering onto his feet as well. He didn’t loom, though, which was an impressive feat considering his height and posture – Sam caught himself wondering if it was intentional. “What train?”

*

“You stole my wallet.”

Sam kicked his feet, smile stubbornly in place. Even if Guy wasn’t his soulmate, he was fun – fun in the way a slapping-turtle stumbling in its own feet is funny, but fun nonetheless. Very few people lasted this long against Sam’s charms – either giving into half amusement, half pity at his behalf or being so frustrated they’d rather throw Sam (or themselves) into open fire.

Guy, it seemed, was just angry with everyone and everything. It was a nice change of routine.

“I figured I deserved a ticket after saving you from that lake,” said Sam – rather cheekily, if you asked him. “I could’ve just let you sleep!”

Sighing, Guy rubbed at his temples. “That was the polite thing to do.” He rolled his eyes. “At least you gave it back.”

“Good on you, seeing the positives in things!”

“Let me guess,” said Guy flatly. “We share a compartment, too.”

“E-yup!”

“Great.”

*

“This looks like a nice spot to eat, don’t you think?”

“Nope,” said Guy, hurriedly backing right out of the cart. “Nope, nope, nu-uh.”

Sam grinned at him. “What, is the big guy scared of some flower print walls?”

Guy grabbed him by the shoulder, forcefully shoving him over to the window and gesturing to one of the tables in the cart. “That woman,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “saw me make a fool of myself at the invention try-outs! She also called me a deranged lunatic – ”

“Ooooh, right,” said Sam. “The driver from the road!”

“Precisely,” Guy whispered harshly. “Needless to say, I do not want to talk to her.”

“Relax, buddy,” said Sam, patting Guy’s hand – which seemed to remind him he was currently grasping him a bit too tightly, and he hurriedly let go. “I’ll introduce you! See, there’ll be no trouble at all.”

“Sam, no – ”

Too late, of course: Sam had ploughed on straight ahead, swung open the door and made a beeline for the ladies’ table.

Michellee Weebie, it turned out, was a polite young woman with a bureaucratic career and a sharp, organized mind. Her heart beat for her daughter and she didn’t mention a husband even once, so the father wasn’t part of the picture and Michellee was most likely single.

E.B, for her part, was young and sweet and early into her rebellious phase – a curious little thing, easy to talk to and most likely going to outgrow her mother in charm and charisma in less than a few years.

Guy had a crush on Michellee. She was totally his type, as well, with her sweet cheeks and dainty nose and wispy, smooth hair. Slender, cute giggle, well-rounded fashion sense – probably decent humour.

It wasn’t like it was a problem, even if Guy was Sam’s soulmate – Sam wasn’t the type to be jealous, either. He grew out of that after his twentieth life, when the memories of an orgy he and his soulmate had been part of cemented themselves as permanent, rather than fleeting.

An orgy isn’t exactly the thing you go into if you’re prone to jealousy.

So, no, Guy’s rather adorable crush on Michellee wasn’t a problem for Sam – but poor Guy was absolutely lost in what to do about the whole thing, and floundered and fumbled with every opportunity he had.

“You want some help there, buddy?” Sam muttered, when they were retreating to their compartment for the night. “Trust me, I’m an expert.”

“I – I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Sam shrugged, skipping ahead to hold the door open for him. “Whatever you say, train-travel bud!”

*

Sam had misjudged E.B. Not only was she young, sweet, and early into her rebellious phase: she was wildly adventurous and had no regard for her own safety. Yes, Sam was on top of a moving train, but he was a licensed conman and also a very responsible adult, thank you very much.

E.B was a ten year old child who didn’t seem to understand that if she fell off, she would die.

“I know I’m supposed to be in bed,” she said, sitting on the train roof with crossed legs and smiling up at the star-spotted sky, “but is it okay if I stay with you for just one more minute?”

E.B was a ten year old child and a young soul, and Sam crossed the cart to settle next to her – promising himself he would commit her ticks and traits to memory so he would recognize her again, and again, and again.

*

“I wanna call him Mr. Jenkins,” said E.B, cradling the chickeraffe’s beak against her cheek.

Sam, who’d been hoping for Guy Junior simply because it was such a ridiculous name he wouldn’t get attached, smiled and said, “Mr. Jenkins it is.”

*

“Heyyy, Guyyyy.” Sam kicked his feet from the top bunk, smiling down at the hulking shape in the dark. “Did you find some peace and quiet to watch your paint?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Yes.”

“That’s great!” said Sam, and he meant it.  “I’m sorry I was distracting you earlier, I’ll try better next time.”

Guy’s eyes had a slight sheen to them in the dim lights, which Sam only noticed because he glanced up at him with raised eyebrows. “I… thank you, Sam.”

“Also, E.B knows about the chickeraffe. She called him Mr. Jenkins.”

“What! You told her!?”

“Nah,” said Sam, still kicking his feet. “She figured it out all on her own. Smart kid. Not too fond of her mom, don’t worry. She won’t tell.”

Sighing heavily, Guy rubbed at his eyes. If he kept going at that so often, he’d soon rub all his fur out. “Are you sure, Sam? Because I will bail on you if she does.”

Sam traced a cross over his chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die, Guy, I am one hundred percent certain.”

Guy’s scowl was even more pronounced than usual when he stepped forward and leaned his weight onto Sam’s bed, making his face at the height of Sam’s knees. Sam politely stopped kicking his feet in time for Guy to growl, “tremendous. Now, I am going to bed, if you will excuse me. I barely slept a wink last night because a certain beast wrecked havoc on my hotel room, but –”

“Message received,” said Sam, grinning to himself as he rolled over and fully into the bed. “G’night, Guy! Sleep well!”

He shuffled and squirmed about until he found a comfy position, the blankets curled up around him in a little nest that always reminded him of his first ever home.

“Goodnight, Sam.”

The words warmed him from head to toe.

*

“I’m so tired of chasing after you.”

Sam had said that – except he wasn’t Sam, then, he was Zookie – and the person in her arms, her soulmate, was Ash.

“I’ll find you,” Ash had said, wrapped around her like poison ivy. “I’ll find you, Zookie, I’ll find you next time.”

Zookie had burrowed her face into Ash’s neck and shaken her head. “You can’t know that. You can’t.”

Sam woke from the dream with a drawn-out shiver. Sleepily, he reached for his blanket – surprised enough to wake fully when he realized he was still bundled up in it.

His teeth started chattering.

“Uh – Guy?” he whisper-called, leaning over the edge of the bed to squint down at him. “Is it just me, or is it, like, really cold?”

Guy grunted. “Yeah. I think the heater’s broken.”

“You’re an inventor,” said Sam, “can’t you fix it?”

“And risk blowing up the whole train? No.”

Sam hummed, tapping on his cheek as he thought. “Can we snuzzle for warmth, then?” The only response to that was an offended huff. Alright, how to hit Guy where it mattered… “Oh, come on, buddy! I’m not gonna be able to sleep like this, and let me tell you, I am insufferable when sleep deprived.”

Nothing but some rustling of cloth.

“I mean,” said Sam, “are you gonna be able to sleep?”

Nothing.

Well, he tried.

“Message received! Got it, not a hugger. Wouldn’t wanna make you uncomfortable.” Sam turned over, tugging the blankets up over his chin. It was true – Guy had shied away from physical contact from the very beginning, but he hadn’t told Sam off, so he’d assumed it to be fine. But snuzzling – sleeping together – it was a step up from ‘forcefully hugged in a moving car’.

A heavy sigh from below made him perk up. “Fine. Get down here.”

“Yes!”

Sam scurried down, blanket trailing after him like a cape as he dove beneath Guy’s and curled up beside him.

“You’re freezing!” Guy shuffled off against the wall, hands on Sam’s shoulders.

“And you’re not,” said Sam, worming his way closer. “Is it your fur? Mine’s really thin.”

“I – I guess.”

His eyes were dark and uncertain, but he wasn’t pushing him away.

Sam had been in this dance countless times before; partners who didn’t get it, who didn’t understand why they were drawn in, why something within them crowed out in joy at his presence. But Sam knew. Sam saw the echoes of everyone they had ever been etched in the lines of their face and the coils of their fur.

Was Guy his soulmate, or just kind?

“Thanks for sharing,” Sam whispered.

Guy sighed again. Hesitantly, he draped an arm over Sam’s back. “Just go to sleep, Sam.”

*

“For breakfast? Really?”

Sam chuckled and shoveled another forkful of green eggs and ham into his mouth. “They’re particularly good on a train.”

“Yes,” said Guy slowly, poking at his outmush. “You said that already. Twice.”

“Third time’s the charm! Want a bite?”

“No!”

Sam shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Their peaceful breakfast was interrupted by the door slamming open and a hulking agent McWinkle stepped into the cart.

Guy choked on his outmush. “Flee!”

Shoveling the rest of his breakfast straight into his briefcase, Sam jumped to his feet and bolted – Guy hot on his trail.

*

“You know what they say! Where there’s fire, there’s ties!”

Sam could almost smell the heavy drag of Guy’s feet behind him. “Literally no one has ever said that.”

Laughing, Sam skipped down the hill. “Maybe the they is referring to the me, mister Guy Am-I.”

“Oh,” said Guy. He sped up to walk beside Sam, Mr. Jenkins bouncing in his arms with each step. “Do you – are you nonbinary?”

The words, not this time, almost fell out of Sam’s mouth. He caught them just in time, though, instead beaming up at Guy. “Male at your service! He-him pronouns with a side of green eggs, please and thank you.”

“Right, yes. Yes.”

Sam glanced up at him.

Guy glared back. “What?”

“And what about you, mister grumph?”

“Oh! Oh, yes, no, the same. Yes.”

He’d thought as much, but always better safe than sorry.

*

Sam wanted to grab Guy by the shoulders and shriek I am a conman! I know what I’m doing!

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Guy’s plans or abilities – he had full faith in him storming into a fox’ den to steal his ties – but it was insanely patronizing to be told to stay put outside while someone else did all the work.

So, obviously Sam followed.

Together they managed to wrangle Michael’s ties off him – Sam utilizing one of his most soothing voices while Guy put his nimble inventor-fingers to work – and, when they’d finished that and begun backing off towards the door, Sam experienced something extraordinary.

Guy smiled.

“You’re right, Sam,” he said – softly, a hand on Sam’s shoulder, so close. “We are a sort of family. And you can’t choose your family, or really even leave them. You’re just stuck with them. Forever.”

Sam nodded along, helpless to do anything but smile back and be fit to burst because Guy was smiling at him and saying they were family and that had to mean something, right?

“So, in the end,” Guy continued – both hands on Sam’s shoulders and shoving him back, up against the wall, their faces so close Sam could count the specks of gold in his eyes if he weren’t too busy catching his breath – “It’s easier to just surrender… and let them stick around.”

Was he still talking about family? How could he be talking about family when hovering so close, pinning him to a wall and cast in candlelight?

“You said it,” Sam whispered, trying to get his tongue to cooperate, because now Guy was pulling back, and –

He’d marked his name on the wall.

Just like Sam had asked him to.

Wow. Sam might be in love. Just a tiny little bit. Not just because of the mark, but also because Guy had smiled.

And that smile? That was the smile of his soulmate.

The one that never changed.

*

“We need a place to stay for the night,” said Guy, after they’d poured ties down a happy Mr. Jenkin’s gob and spent a few seconds admiring the sunset.

“Right. How about that motel over there?”

Guy adjusted his hat, squinting off in the distance. “Think we can make it?”

“We can try!” Sam chirped, grabbing his briefcase and hoisting it onto his back. “If not, those cliffs will make wonderful cover.”

“Great,” said Guy hollowly. “Cliffs. Yippee.”

*

They didn’t make it.

Well, they did make it, but it went down somewhat like this:

“As long as there’s a bed,” Guy grumbled, speeding off in front of Sam, “I’ll be hap-” The rest of the word drowned in a shriek when the ground crumbled beneath his feet.

“Guy!” Sam cried, darting forward and all but throwing his head over the edge.

Beneath was a deep pit filled with junk.

No motel, then.

“Guy, take my hand!”

Guy dangled over the edge, only a few fingers clutching onto safety. He cursed, expression one of terror, and Sam reached, reached, reached. Guy flailed, gesturing wildly – he missed once, twice –

Their palms slapped together. Sam clutched on, cursing his smaller statue but eternally grateful for his immense strength when, inch by inch, Guy managed to pull himself up.

Mr. Jenkins ran circles around them, squawking worriedly nonstop as Guy collapsed half-way over Sam, wheezing at the ground. Sam stared up at the sky, pulsing with adrenaline, one hand resting on Guy’s back.

Eventually, Guy pushed himself upright. He blinked down at Sam, dark in the face, and stuttered, “thank you.”

“Oh,” said Sam, offering a small smile as he moved his hand from Guy’s side to his arm. “It was nothing.”

Guy looked away. “It’s dark. We should… ugh. We should find shelter by the cliffs.”

“You got it, boo!” Sam clambered to his feet and patted Mr. Jenkins on the head with a grin. “Cliff-shelter it is.”

But despite finding good shelter beneath the outcrop of a cliffside, all was not perfect. Mr. Jenkins was perfectly fine in the hole he’d drilled into the ground – but Guy and Sam? Not so much.

“What’re you doing?” Sam asked, peering over Guy’s shoulder as he rummaged around his briefcase. It was a nice distraction from his toes losing all feeling and his empty stomach.

“We need to light a fire,” said Guy, “or we’re going to freeze to death overnight.”

“Excellent idea!” Sam crossed his arms over Guy’s shoulder. “You gonna invent something to fix it up?”

“No. I’m looking for… aha!” Guy held up a lighter. “Now we just need fuel.”

“Ooh!” Sam darted to attention, throwing off a quick salute. “I’m on it!” He scurried around for a few minutes, picking up twigs and sticks and any spare leaves he could find. By the time he made it back to the overhang, Guy had already gotten a small heap of twigs alight.

“Ahh,” said Guy, gratefully taking the armfuls of fuel. The two of them built a successful little campfire that, while likely to burn out overnight, would save their skins from certain death. “That’s better.”

“M-hm!” Sam settled beside Guy, so close their knees brushed together with every breath. “You sure make a mean campfire. Now we just need some green eggs and ham to top it off!”

Guy huffed, slouching over. More than usual, that was. “We’ll find somewhere to eat tomorrow. For now, I’m just glad we’re alive.”

Sam elbowed him in the side with a teasing, “and you didn’t even have to invent anything!”

He was rewarded with nothing but a huff.

The teasing smile faded. Sam frowned, leaning forward to get a better look at Guy’s face. “Guy… why don’t you like inventing anymore? What happened?”

Guy looked at him, then away. “Nothing happened. I just – everything I make always explodes. Do you have any idea how disheartening that is?” He sighed, burying his face in his hands. “I used to be so hopeful. Bright-eyed, creative, inventive. The world was my oyster, success imminent!”

Sam scooted closer, placing a hand on Guy’s knee. Softly, he asked, “what changed?”

A pained look darted across Guy’s face. “I changed. Or maybe the world changed, I don’t know. I… I lost my spark. All motivation. Gone. And when it came back – when I realized I still wanted to invent… it was too late. Something had broken that I couldn’t fix. And now…” He leaned forward, resting his chin in his hands and staring sullenly into the fire. “Now I’m a failure.”

“No, Guy…” Sam reached up and pulled aside one of Guy’s hands. “You aren’t a failure. You’re just hurt. I’m… I’m sorry all that happened to you.”

I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner, Sam thought, I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you like I swore I would.

“It’s fine,” said Guy, and though he looked away his fingers curled around Sam’s. “We all have our stories.”

“Mhhm. Yeah.” Sam didn’t dare move his hand. The fire crackled behind him, nearing too hot with how close he was – but what if Guy changed his mind? What if he moved, pulled away? “You, uh. You wanna hear mine?”

Guy blinked down at him. He wasn’t frowning anymore, but the lines were still there in his face, such wonderful marks of the life he’d born and survived and gotten through. “Yours?”

Sam smiled weakly. “My story, silly.”

Shifting his weight, Guy squeezed Sam’s hand. “Only if you want to share.”

“I…”

Sam looked away.

This was something he’d never told anyone before. It’d been one of his most closely guarded secrets – maybe even more so than his conman career. There was shame to it, as well, that he would be so hurt over something that had happened to him before; that, even after living hundreds of lives, something like this could still do damage.

It was a discussion he’d had with his soulmate before, in earlier times – talks of, it feels like such an irrational feeling, this has happened to me so many times before – but it always came down to one, solid thing: the past didn’t matter. He lived in the present. Always did! If someone stabbed you once, and then you were stabbed a second time later, you would still bleed.

And he was hurt. He was really hurt – nothing had ever really quite aligned for him, this time around, and it dug so deep it’d probably linger for several lifetimes to come.

But this was his soulmate. This was Guy. Guy, who just told him he was broken and couldn’t be fixed.

“When I was very little,” Sam said, “my mom… she left me. At an orphanage. It…” He glanced up – Guy’s expression was wide and raw and open, molten in the firelight, and Sam looked just as quickly away. “It’s always just been me.”

Crackle, pop from the fireplace. Guy reached forward to clasp Sam’s shoulder, squeezing tightly for a second before letting go. “I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s fine,” said Sam, giving him a small smile. “We’ve all got our stories. Right?”

Guy, to Sam’s absolute amazement, smiled back. “Yeah. Right.”

*

Early morning light found the two of them curled up underneath a spare newspaper next to the slumbering ambers of the campfire. Guy had grabbed onto Sam wholeheartedly during sleep, tucked him underneath his chin and practically melted into him.

Not that Sam minded. Rather the opposite, really.

“Up and at ‘em, Guy,” he whispered, carding his fingers through the thick fur around Guy’s neck. “Morning calls. Aren’t you hungry?”

Guy came to slowly. “Whr… what day is it?”

Sam chuckled. “Pretty sure it’s Bangsday.”

Guy gasped and sat up so fast Sam fell off his chest. “Bangsday! We’re still a way off from Meepville, I gotta be there by Snerzday!”

“Hey, me too!” Sam beamed, but the bright expression fell almost immediately. “Wait – oh, no. That’s not good! You think we’ll be late?”

“Not if we hurry,” said Guy, fumbling around the campsite to wrap all his things up. Sam followed his lead, as worried as him they would miss the big day.

Though, Sam might be having more issues than Guy on that front. Guy could always just try out for a job later – it wasn’t like Sam could just get a new head.

*

They made it to Prinz Pazookle by foot after hours of walking, and by then Sam was so hungry he could barely think straight. “Just two bruckles left,” he said, holding out the two golden coins to show Guy. “Ought to get us a whole portion of green eggs and ham!”

“Or half,” said Guy darkly. “One bruckle is enough for outmush. Trust me, I’d know.”

“Of course you would,” said Sam fondly. “Outmush and eggs, then! Let’s go.”

One meal later, they were out of money, on the run from the law, and almost definitely behind schedule.

“The carnival,” Sam suggested, pointing to the colourful chaos poking just over the skyline. “It’s the perfect place to earn money. Come on!”

But even after sneaking around the carnival lots and looking for cheap work, they found nothing. Pacing back and forth in the shade of a carnival tent, Guy threw his hands into the air. “We can’t afford to go anywhere! What do we do, Sam?”

Sam, stood tense and gnawing on his lip as he thought, did not answer. He knew Guy well enough to know he could, if need be, convince him stealing was in their best interests. Sam didn’t like it, and neither would Guy, but it seemed their best bet.

At least until a familiar voice called out, “Sam? Guy! And Mr. Jenkins!” Sam and Guy turned to face E.B, running excitedly through the crowd to meet them. “What happened to you, where’d you go?”

“Ah, we, uh…” Guy looked about frantically before continuing. “We ran into a bit of… trouble. So we had to go.”

“Oh,” said E.B. “And what now? What’re you doing here?”

“Looking for work,” said Guy.

Sam continued, “we don’t have enough bruckles to get to Meepville.”

And E.B, the absolute little sweetheart that she was, handed off her one and only bruckle. They barely had time to tell their thanks and a quick “don’t tell your mother!” before the BADGUYS made their presence known, and the duo had to dash.

“You are insane,” Guy told Sam, when he’d divulged the plan. “Shipping ourselves in the mail?”

“Yup! Done it before, worked just fine! C’mon, let’s go!”

*

Cramped in a small box and with nowhere to go for the next half hour, Sam considered himself rather lucky to have found a comfortable position. Guy, on the other hand, struggled a bit more. “Just terrific. At least Michellee didn’t see me.”

“Riiiight, yes,” said Sam, winking at him from his place nestled between his legs. “You have a crush on her, that would’ve been tough to explain.”

“Huh? What?” Guy blinked rapidly. “No, I don’t – why would you think that?”

“Oh, come on – isn’t it obvious?”

Guy groaned. “Just because Guy meets Gal doesn’t mean I’m in love. She’s a higher-up in the company I wanted to work for when I invented, you dingus!”

“That is an offensive term.”

“I do not care! I want her to have a good impression of me because of work,” Guy snapped, gesturing insistently towards himself. “Not because I have a crush.”

Sam chuckled, removing his hat to scratch at his head. “But she’s so totally your type!”

Guy gave him a flat look. “And how, pray tell, would you know what my type is?”

“I’m a really good people reader.”

“Right. So, what exactly is my ‘type’?” Guy said, making exaggerated air quotes just to get his point of half-baked mockery across.

“Oh, let’s see…” Sam started ticking off on his fingers. “Wispy fur, dainty noses, chubby cheeks. Dark eyes, kind and generous but willing to hold their own. Meek and elegant.”

“Sam,” said Guy drily, “you’re just describing yourself.”

Sam blinked. “I was describing Michellee.”

They stared at each other.

Guy’s face slowly reddened.

“Aww, Guy!” Sam exclaimed, balling his hands into fists beneath his chin and bouncing in place. “Am I your type? That’s so us!”

“No, I – you – ”

“What was it you said to me?” Sam teased. “Back in that fox’ house – it’s easier to just surrender?”

Without a change of intonation or facial expression Guy said, “I want to change the topic.”

Sam held up his hands placatingly. “Alright, alright, bud, if you say so. But I know that you know that I know.”

*

So… being arrested wasn’t part of the plan.

He’d never make Snerzday now – not unless Guy broke him out immediately and they found some abandoned credit card to pay for a bus ride all the way to Meepville. But what sort of luck would that entail? No – there was no way.

“I’d like to make my one call, please,” Sam called down the prison hallway.

The friendly officer who’d arrested him materialized seemingly out of nowhere, red phone in hand. “Sure thing, mister I-Am! Here you are.”

“Thanks.” Sam dialed the number he’d memorized weeks ago and put the phone to his ear, waiting for the officer to turn aside before saying, “hey. It’s me. There’s been a minor delay – I won’t make it by the deadline.” He hurried to continue before Snerz could explode on him. “If you send someone else to pick up the package, I’ll be fine with a cut of the money.”

“You disappoint me.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Do we have a deal?”

“Very well. What is your location?”

“Shvizelton. Don’t know how long I’ll be staying, though.”

“Good. Do not bother contacting me again. My men will find you.”

“Understood.”

He hung up, sighing heavily and resting his forehead against one of the bars. He’d come up with a plan to escape eventually, he just needed some time to… he wasn’t sure. Wind down. Relax.

Hope against all hope that Guy would come for him.

*

Guy did come. He got himself thrown into jail just to help, brainstormed ideas with him and grumbled darkly under his breath and didn’t once cuss Sam out for getting in trouble to begin with.

It was rather refreshing, all things considered – so, when Guy suggested just following the little mouse they shared a cell with through the hollows of the prison walls, Sam happily obliged. Through slim tunnels and cracks they went, sneaking across open rooms and fleeing from guards – all the way out through a window and onto a rusted pipe.

“C’mon, Guy, jump!” Sam called, reaching up for his friend with the wind roaring around them. “I caught you last time, remember? Trust me! I got you!”

Guy’s whimper echoed down along the stone walls. “You promise?”

“I promise!”

Guy let go.

I love you, thought Sam.

Always have, always will, thought Sam.

I’m so glad I found you again, thought Sam.

“You did it!” said Sam, nuzzling briefly into Guy’s neck before letting him go.

Guy managed to beam at him before the pipe gave out beneath their feet.

*

“You think she’ll let us in?” Sam said, gaze not leaving the door of the cabin – where Michellee was currently having an animated, albeit muffled discussion with E.B.

“How did she even find that wanted poster?” Guy moaned, hands gripping his cheek-tufts. “We’re felons, Sam!”

Sam shrugged. “You get used to it. What’s it matter to you, anyway? You’re gonna be a solid, stable fall-back paint watcher.”

Guy wrung water from his hat. “It matters because she matters.”

“Oooh, so she’s your idol, got it.”

A comment like that would’ve gotten Sam a growl and snapped response a few days ago, but now it only got him a heavy sigh. “I don’t know, Sam. I just don’t know.”

The door swung open. Michellee stood on the other side, arms crossed and brow split by a frown-creases. “You can come in,” she curtly said, “but I demand an explanation.”

Sam and Guy, cowed and grateful, yelped, “yes ma’am!”

And so the two of them dried off and settled on her couch and Sam let Guy explain that yes, they were technically wanted men but they were also relocating an endangered animal and Sam was a wild-life expert and they were being chased by BADGUYS who wanted to sell Mr. Jenkins to a collector and –

Honestly, Sam sort of tuned him out. Guy was going to be so horribly, incredibly mad at him when he realized Sam had made him lie to someone he cared about.

What was he even going to tell him? Whoever Snerz had sent was bound to be on their trail by now… and the BADGUYS would still be chasing after them even if they didn’t have Mr. Jenkins… how was he going to play that off?

He couldn’t keep the lie up forever. But when would he spill? The situation had to be right…

His musings were interrupted by Michellee sighing – almost as heavily as Guy, who would’ve thought it was possible! – and pulling a hand through her hair. “Alright. Fine. You can stay the night. But I’m locking my bedroom door!”

“Absolutely,” Sam chirped, “understandable, have a good day, afternoon, and evening! How about dinner, what were you thinking?” He hopped out of the couch, ushering Michellee towards the kitchenette – partially to distract himself from his troubled thoughts, and partially to give Guy a chance of catching his breath. “I hear green eggs and ham are really nice this time of year, do you want some help? Don’t worry about E.B, Guy’s great with kids.”

He thought he could hear E.B pestering Guy into playing some board game in the background. Perfect.

They had a nice, calm evening with vegan green eggs and ham, hot chocolate with marshmallows and a crackling fireplace while the four of them played a round of Monopoly – which ended with E.B smugly shoveling all the money into her corner. No one could blame her for it, and Guy actually laughed, which Sam counted as a huge win.

Once late-evening crept into early-night, Michellee packed aside some of her things. “I’m – I’m sorry, but you’ll have to sleep on the couch… there’s really only two bedrooms here…”

“Oh, that’s fine,” said Guy, worrying his hat between his palms but smiling genuinely. “We’ll make do.”

“Goodnight, you two!” said Sam, waving the ladies off into their respective rooms. “Sweet dreams!”

E.B waved over her shoulder. “Goodnight, Sam! G’night, Guy! Night, Mr. Jenkins!”

Sam hummed peacefully as their doors softly shut. “They’re really nice.”

“They are.” Guy shook out a blanket, draping it over Mr. Jenkins’ still form. He’d been asleep for a little while, now, curled up along one side of the couch with his head resting on a cushion. “You want the couch or the floor?”

Chuckling, Sam shook his head. “Guy, Guy, Guy! No reason for one of us to take the floor when there’s space for both on the couch!”

“Er.” Guy glanced between Sam and the couch. His lips twitched in a small smile. “I suppose.”

“Eggcellent!” Sam gestured for Guy to take a seat – then, when Guy did as told with only mild complaining, clambered into the couch as well to nestle into place between his legs, head resting on his stomach. “Perfect fit, don’t you think?”

Guy tensed, but eased up after a few seconds. Chuckling softly, he reached for the spare blanket and draped it over them both. “You’re ridiculous.”

Sam, who’s head just barely poked up over the blanket’s edged, hummed and nuzzled into Guy’s belly. “You love it.”

*

Two hours later the fire had gone out and Sam was still awake.

Guilt had been creeping up on him the whole day, and now it had sunk its ugly teeth into his skin and refused to let go. He didn’t know what to do – about Guy, about Mr. Jenkins, about Snerz.

If he gave Mr. Jenkins over to Snerz’ men, he would have to explain it off to Guy as some other wild-life expert… and then what about the BADGUYS still chasing after them? And Guy being a wanted criminal?

But if he just told Guy the truth, he’d hate him.

Sam sighed, propping his head up on his arms atop Guy’s belly. If he strained his neck just a little bit, he could peer over the edge of the couch and see the top of Mr. Jenkins’ head… sleeping so peacefully, unaware of any danger, such a trusting and innocent creature.

He couldn’t sell him. He couldn’t. He knew how Snerz treated his animals – the thought of Mr. Jenkins’ head up on that wall was… horrifying, at best.

So, he had to get him home to Chickeraffe Island. But how? By boat? Train?

No – cold air balloon. It was the fastest, most inconspicuous… and Sam didn’t have to watch over him during the trip, he could just shmack him in there and focus on going into hiding. But then – the money, how would he get money for…?

He’d have to steal. Or trick someone. Something – anything.

And he needed Guy’s help.

Honesty goes a long way, doesn’t it?

Sam sat up. “Guy,” he whispered. “Guy, wake up.” No response. Huffing, Sam leaned forward and trailed a finger down Guy’s side.

Guy jumped with a yelp. “Wh – wh – wh – wha – what? Huh?”

“Guy, I’ve been lying to you,” Sam whispered loudly. Better to just get it over with – rip off the bandaid as soon as possible. “I’m not a wild-life expert.”

“Oh,” said Guy, eyes slipping close as he lay down. After a beat he frowned and shot right back up again. “Why do you have Mr. Jenkins?”

“I’ve been hired to steal him,” Sam explained, “for Snerz! But I’m not gonna do that, Guy, I’m gonna get him home.”

Guy groaned, falling back against the pillows. “Why are you telling me this?” he muttered.

Sam darted forward to straddle his stomach and keep eye contact. “Because I want to be honest with you, travel bud!”

“No, why are you telling me this now? At midnight?”

“Technically, it’s half past one.”

Despite doing nothing to remove Sam, Guy flashed him an impressive glare. “I knew something was fishy with you! Have you been lying to me this entire time?”

Sam shook his head. “No, no, Guy, I promise – only the wildlife stuff, I swear, everything else is true.”

They kept eye contact. Guy’s glare softened out with every passing second. At last he sighed, softly saying, “tell me, Sam, what witchcraft have you done that makes it impossible to stay mad at you?”

“It’s because we’re soulmates,” Sam said.

Guy wriggled an arm free just to facepalm. “The plans haven’t changed? With Mr. Jenkins, we – we’re still going to Meepville?”

“Yes. We’ll send him off in a cold air balloon. But…” Sam trailed off, curling a loose coil of Guy’s thick fur around his finger.

Guy’s tone was dangerous when he repeated, “but?”

“We don’t have any money.”

“No yipping shit, genius! Can’t we just sneak him in?”

Sam blinked.

Then, with a purr, “I like the way you’re thinking, partner.”

“Great,” said Guy, and reached up to wrap his arms around Sam and pull him closer. “Now, can we please sleep some more?”

“Of course,” Sam whispered, carding his fingers through runaway tufts of Guy’s fur. That had gone way better than expected. He didn’t even have to sleep on the floor!

*

Breakfast the next morning was wonderful. Guy smiling was wonderful, E.B laughing was wonderful, and Michellee inviting them along to Meepville was wonderful. Caught in the middle of it all, Sam could suddenly see himself living with the three of them – all four, a quartet of mischief, could see finding Michellee and E.B again and again and again like he’d found Guy again and again and again – how strange wasn’t that, that people could fit so well together despite hardly knowing one another?

Not for the first time, Sam wondered if he had more than one soulmate – if he could make another soulmate, another match, another magnet to always be drawn to simply by being fond of them.

And then Guy said, “uh, Sam? There’s a suspicious-looking… goat outside” – and the idyllic imagery shattered.

“What?” said Sam, stumbling in his haste to get over to the window. “Are – are you sure it’s a goat, and not a – a coat? Or a boat, perhaps?”

Guy obediently checked again. “No, that’s definitely a goat.”

Sam snuck over to the door, nudged it open, and peered outside.

Oh yeah, no, definitely a goat.

“We’re behind schedule,” Sam whispered to Guy, slowly closing the door again. “That right there is a wanted animal poacher – Snerz has sent him to,” – and here he made air quotes – “take Mr. Jenkins off our hands.”

“Oh, yip,” Guy grumbled, making quick work of locking the door. “Is he dangerous?”

“A-yup.”

“Double yip.” He shoved the blockade plank into its slots, as well. “What do we do?”

Sam glanced back towards Michellee and E.B. “I hate to say this, Guy, but…”

*

“No, it’s alright, I understand,” said Michellee for the third time, after Guy apologized for the third time.

Guy nodded frantically. “Then we’ll meet up in Meepville?”

Michellee took his hand. Sam couldn’t see quite clearly, but it looked like she might’ve squeezed it. “Yes. We will.”

Sam’s attention dropped when E.B flung herself around his neck. “Oh, please please please be careful, Sam! And Guy! And Mr. Jenkins!”

Sam wrapped her into the most crushing, bone-breaking hug he could manage and whispered, “we will.”

*

Had the mountaintop not been shrouded in stormclouds and thick sheets of snow, Sam would probably have enjoyed the view. As it was, Sam was just desperately trying to hold onto both himself and his hat as they fought against the elements.

The Goat stepped forward through the storm, his eyes alight with fury. “You two think you can defile my wheels, and – ”

Sam didn’t hear the rest.

In his countless lifetimes, he had met a lot of souls – hundreds, probably thousands – some which he never saw again, and some that appeared a lifetime later, two times, maybe three or four or ten or fifteen. The truth of someone’s soul was visible in the strangest of places; the tilt of their eyebrows, the way they laughed, the crinkles around their eyes when they squinted against the sun.

Sam was an outlier. He knew that, of course, had known it for a long time – that he was one of very, very, very few who could actively remember so much about his past.

And it was just Sam’s luck that he had blown it with the only other soul he knew of that also remembered.

“That’s our friend, you can-eater!”

The Goat, who’d been staring at Sam, zeroed in on Guy. “Oh, I see,” he said – slowly, slowly turning from anger to smugness. “I see, I see, I see.”

Next to Sam, Guy shifted. “See what?”

To Sam, the Goat said, “so you have found him again, sýntrofos Ahmos.”

Sam swallowed, and swallowed again, and stumbled upright in the snow. Guy had just yanked him out of the way of a boulder; now Sam stood, trembling, between him and the Goat. “Leave him alone, Elishah. He hasn’t done anything to you.”

There was a stutter in Guy’s voice when he spoke. “What’s going on, Sam?”

“Or what?” mocked the Goat, taking one menacing step after another. “You’re pathetic. Your body is small. Weak. You don’t stand a chance against me.”

“I’ll buy him enough time to run,” Sam said. “I don’t care about me. Not anymore. Just please, don’t hurt him.”

“Or,” said the Goat, and lifted his net-gun, “I can hurt you both.”

Which was when Mr. Jenkins turned into a raging ball of fire and threw the Goat straight off into the mountainside.

“What in the bloody yip was that, Sam?”

“No time!” Sam cried, grabbing soulmate, pet and briefcase. “Avalanche!”

*

“Sam. What happened with the Goat at the summit?”

Sam slurped his green eggs and ham smoothie. “Oh, you know. Old acquaintances.”

Guy glared. “Sam. Tell me.”

There was something very, very compelling about Guy ordering him around. Sam sighed, putting aside the smoothie to scratch at his head. “I may have done something bad to him. A really, really really long time ago.”

Guy shook his head, but after all the times Sam had given him half-answers and not-answers, he probably wasn’t too keen on chasing the truth. Not that Sam was lying! He was just… not telling the whole truth. “What did he call you?”

“Sýntrofos Ahmos,” Sam relied. “It means, ‘companion Ahmos’.”

“Ahmos?”

“Old nickname.”

Guy gave him a long, piercing look. “You’re going to tell me the whole truth someday, Sam.”

“Yeah,” said Sam. “I know. And you,” he seamlessly continued, bouncing right back to his cheeriness, “are going to tell me why you don’t want to go back to meet your family!”

Guy bristled, making a half-hearted attempt at shoving Sam away when he leaned into his personal space. “I just think it’ll be – be awkward!”

“Riiight,” said Sam, “super awkward, you haven’t even bought me dinner yet.”

“It’s been a while since I saw them,” said Guy. “Okay? It’s just that. I – they’re going to be all saccharine sweet and falsely nice and try not to let me know how much of a disappointment they think I am.” Guy blinked, then groaned and covered his face with his hands. “Why do you always make me so honest?”

“It’s cuz we’re soulmates.”

Guy peered up at him through a crack in his fingers. Even with such a small surface area to look at, his glare was magnificent. “Are you going to stop pestering me if we go there?”

Sam beamed.

*

Guy’s family was amazing. Big, and warm, and welcoming – not only was Guy invited in, but so was Sam, and the table was set for two extra. Introductions were made – Sam’s head swam with all the names and occupations – and smiles and loud laughter was shared.

And then, of course, came the question of, “what brings you here?”

When Guy froze, Sam stepped in with a chirp of, “well, my friend Guy here,” – at which point he elbowed Guy in the side and winked – “is helping me relocate an endangered animal! We’re moving it from a zoo and returning it to its home! But it’s undercover, so it’s all rather hush-hush.”

“Oh, my, oh my!” Mrs. Am-I clasped her hands under her chin, beaming eagerly. “What sort of animal?”

Sam waggled his eyebrows. “A chickeraffe.”

The expected gasps of shock never came. Instead, Sam was met by a chorus of excited murmurs. “How are you getting it home?” asked a young girl – Sam had entirely missed her name.

“In a cold air balloon! From Meepville,” Sam explained.

“Goodness, but those rides are expensive! Do you have the funds for that?” said Mrs. Am-I.

“Er,” said Sam.

Guy muttered, “we hadn’t gotten that far yet.”

“Well, I never!” exclaimed Mr. Am-I, hands on his hips. “Now, that just won’t do. I’m sure, between us, we can scrape together enough bruckles to get that innocent animal back home.”

“No, no, that’s really not – ” both Sam and Guy tried. But the Am-I’s would have none of it; every member of the large family ran off into every corner, pulling forth bruckles from nooks and crannies and then some. Even the littlest girl ran up to her room and returned, victoriously, with one shiny coin clasped in her hand.

Everyone wanted to chime in and help their wayward son. The lost sheep.

The one who had returned.

Sam watched the pile of bruckles rise, one by one, into a whopping six hundred bruckles. “There,” said Mr. Am-I, a fond gleam to his eye. “That ought’a be enough, don’t you think?”

Guy’s eyes were very wide and very wet. Sam eased closer to put a hand on his arm, trying to say, I know, and I see you, and I know, I know, I know all at once.

With a sniff, Guy stumbled forward and drew his parents into a hug.

*

They ate dinner and watched TV and played cards, and Sam watched as Guy grew more and more agitated – with every smile, every laugh, every upturned eyebrow he squirmed and shifted and blushed.

In the end he slipped quietly away when no one but Sam was looking.

When the door shut, he began counting down from thirty. Once he hit zero, he’d go after him – and not a second before.

*

“Nice place you got here.”

Guy jumped. “How – how’d you get in?”

Sam smiled, but didn’t step into the tent. “The security’s just for the door. I’m a good climber.”

Sighing, Guy looked away.

“Listen, if – if you want me to leave, that’s fine,” said Sam, rubbing his knuckles over and over again. “It’s a lot, knowing you’re loved. I get it. But – but I don’t think you want to be alone right now.”

Guy crossed his arms, shoulders hunched over. His droopy hat was more droopy than usual. “How would you know?”

That was practically an invitation, Sam reasoned, and slipped inside – settled on the floor beside Guy, placing a light hand atop his knee. “Because I know you, Guy.”

“No, you don’t. We met a few days ago, you hardly know anything about me.”

Over time, Sam had learned a few valuable lessons. One, don’t play with fire. Two, don’t look a walvark straight in the eye while it’s doing its business.

And three – souls rarely change, even if people do.

Sam leaned closer. “Everyone thinks your favourite colour is red – but it’s actually blue. Any kind of blue, but especially the one of forget-me-nots.”

Guy turned to look at him. His eyes were wide. “Lucky guess.”

“Your favourite season is winter, because you can snuzzle up and wear thick socks and drink as much hot chocolate as you want.” Sam smiled. “Without anyone judging you. You’re not fond of rain, but in early spring it’s the best thing you can think of – and you love the sound of snow, and the scent of freshly baked bread always makes you all gooey inside.” He shuffled closer, his hand no longer light on Guy’s knee, but squeezing. “You want a family. Kids. You never feel more alive than when you’re accomplished and your loved ones safe.”

Guy swallowed. Every line of his shoulders was hard and tense. “How do you – ”

“And I promise you,” Sam continued, “that if you tried green eggs and ham, you’d really, really like it!”

Guy’s open expression fell into a glare. He pulled away. “No. I would not.”

“Yes, you would, I swear!” Sam followed, eager, now, to prove –

“No, Sam I-Am, I will not like green eggs and ham!”

“But why not, they’re so – ”

“They trigger me!”

Sam froze.

He sat back on his haunches.

Guy groaned, rubbing his face before fingering with his ears. “I have – I’ve got PTSD. Okay? And they trigger me.”

“Guy,” Sam whispered. “Guy, I… I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

“Yeah, well…” Guy shrugged off his hand. “It’s obvious you have issues with consent.”

Sam reeled back. “No, I – I don’t – ”

“What do you think it means when someone tells you ‘no’, Sam?” Guy snapped. “When I say, no, Sam, I do not want green eggs and ham, why the yip would you keep trying to make me eat it?”

No, no, no – this was all wrong. Guy was scowling for real this time, I’ve got PTSD and they trigger me and you have issues with consent – how horrible mustn’t the last few days have been for him when the first thing Sam did when meeting him was trigger trauma?

How many times hadn’t Sam lost him before?

Would he lose him again?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, hands – involuntarily, and quivering, coming up to cover his mouth. He wasn’t looking at Guy anymore; not really.

Guy wasn’t the only one with PTSD.

“I’m really, really sorry, I – I – I just wanted you to – I was so sure you’d like them, I swear you would, I just wanted to help – I – I’m sorry, please, please don’t be mad – ”

“Sam – Sam, hey – Sam.” Guy’s hands on his shoulders, solid and steadfast, the scowl gone. “I’m not mad at you. You didn’t know, it’s not your fault.”

Sam drew a shaky breath, looking up into Guy’s worried eyes. “But – but I pressured you so bad…”

“Yeah,” said Guy, “you kinda did. But we all make mistakes, you know, it – it’s so long ago, it’s not so bad anymore. Let’s just – let’s put it behind us. Yeah?”

It would be such a Guy thing to do to say that without truly meaning it. Sam searched his expression, the depths of his eyes, looking for the slightest hint he was lying or shielding discomfort.

Nothing. Just a faint smile.

“Okay,” said Sam, and returned the smile – albeit shakily. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Of course.” Guy inclined his head and let his death-grip go, sitting back with a soft chuckle to regard Sam fully. “Why do you like green eggs and ham so much, anyway? You’d think you’d get tired of it, even if it’s your favourite.”

Sam froze.

“Oh,” said Guy, his teasing smile slipping. “Is it…”

“My mom,” Sam interrupted. “She used to make me… it’s – the only memory I have of her is her making breakfast for me.”

Mama, will you make them for me?

Of course, honey.

Guy tilted his head, and the smile returned. “That sounds like a really nice memory.”

Sam nodded. “Everywhere I go, I try to… I have to taste. To check, you know, if it’s her’s. And it… it never is.”

A hand, heavy, on his shoulder. Sam glanced up – Guy was smiling down at him, all tender and warm, and every past life echoed in that smile. “Keep trying, Sam.”

Reaching up, Sam clutched at Guy’s hand – leaning forward into the touch as though his closeness alone could somehow heal all his hurts, all he had gone through, every pain they’d experienced together and apart.

“I will.”

*

They departed on the ferry the next day, just barely outrunning the BADGUYS. It was E.B who spotted them on the main deck, dragging Michellee over to say hello. “Sam! Guy! Mr. Jenkins!” she greeted loudly, waving with her free hand. “Is everything okay? Did you escape the Goat?”

“For now,” said Sam, hugging first her and then Michellee briefly.

“Then we’ll stay out of your hair,” said Michellee, smiling kindly. “Here – my number, if we don’t meet again before we’re on our way home. If – if that’s okay, of course, I don’t mean to overstep.”

It was Guy who took the slip of paper from her hand, expression softening with warmth. “That’s perfect. Thank you.”

*

Sam planted his palms against the glass, leaning into it with an excited gasp. “I’ve never been on an underwater boat before!”

It was true; he hadn’t. How amazing wasn’t that, that even after all this time there were things he hadn’t tried?

“Neither have I,” said Guy, coming up to stand beside Sam and glance into the dark blue. Colourful schools of fish swam by, a long glowing eel encircling the hull a few times before drifting off.

“Look at that!” Sam breathed, pointing over to a pulsating squid. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Guy hummed. “It’s unique,” he allowed.

Sam laughed, elbowing him gently in the side. His fur gleamed purple in the dim lights. “Come on, Guy, let up a little. Life’s pretty and colourful and joyous! Things can be beautiful.”

“You know,” said Guy, smiling down at him, “I’m almost starting to believe you.”

Sam, feeling incredibly courageous, leaned in against Guy’s side. Nothing had ever felt as rewarding as when Guy indulged and put an arm around his shoulders.

*

“Ah, sýntrofos,” said the Goat, a seagull crying overhead. “We meet again.”

“Back aboard!” Sam cried. “Back aboard!”

They fled beneath the deck, bolstering the hatch before all but falling down the stairs. “What do we do!?” said Guy, clutching his briefcase to his chest and looking frantically around.

Sam called, “hide!” and shot off down one of the hallways.

“It’s too bright!” Guy’s pounding footsteps echoed off the metal when he hurried after. “He’ll see us! Here, get up – I can’t reach.”

Without a second’s hesitation Sam clambered onto Guy’s shoulders, hand on his hat to steady himself. “Hold still!”

The light flickered out. Guy grabbed the falling bulb, tucking it away in his briefcase – and ploughed on ahead.

“Dilikins,” Sam hissed, glancing over his shoulder at the menacing sounds of hoof-on-metal. “He’s coming!”

Guy cursed. His hands dug into Sam’s sides, lifting him down from his shoulders in time to dive into an open cabin. “Shh,” he whispered, holding Sam tight around the waist and flush against his chest. Feet dangling in the air and clutching onto Guy’s arms, Sam did his damnest to control his breath.

Red light flooded the hallway. The Goat’s voice, hoarse and muffled, came, “come on out, amigos! I’ll only hurt you a little!”

Into Sam’s ear, Guy whispered, “what did you do to this guy?”

“It’s a really long time ago,” Sam whispered back.

“That’s not an answer!”

“Shh!”

Hooves clickety-clacked against the metal. Guy’s heart thundered in Sam’s ear, so fast and loud the Goat was sure to hear it. “Oh, Ahmos,” the Goat’s muffled voice called. “You and your little lovebird can’t hide forever. I’ll find you!”

Sam had heard the exact same lines before. Twice, in fact – once in ancient Flubria, hiding out in underwater caves and trying to withhold crying and broken bones – and once in the middle ages, ducked beneath an overturned fruit stall at the local market. The memories were seared into his mind, and every time he had thought it would be the last.

“Again,” said the Goat. Clickety-clack. “And again.” Clickety. “And again.” Clack.

Guy’s grip was slipping. He hissed – muffled by Sam’s hat – and shifted, changing the grip, trying to hoist him further up –

They bumped into the wall.

Froze.

No sound from the hallway.

“Lock the door,” Sam whispered shrilly, “lock – lock the door, Guy!”

Sam dropped to the floor with an oomph while Guy shot off to slam the door shut – just in time for the Goat to slam his entire weight against the thick metal, his horns piercing through.

“We’re screwed!” Sam cried, pawing at Guy’s thigh. “I’m sorry for getting you into this, Guy!”

Guy didn’t have time to answer before the Goat jammed his horns through the hull of the ship – rich saltwater flooded through the punctures. “Dilikins,” Guy cursed, grabbing Sam by the waist and throwing the door open. “We gotta get out!”

“Run!”

The water rose rapidly, sweeping through every other hole the Goat punched – rushing in to drag them down, the ship bucking beneath the weight. Panic, thick and heavy, swamped Sam’s throat and made his voice all choked when he cried, “careful!”

Gasping for air they surfaced on the deck – they got halfway across –

The deck tilted, steep and abrupt as the ship went beneath the surface, and they slid across the wet wood, drooping with it, scrambling for purchase –

The Goat stood steady on the buckling ground, grinning at them with crooked teeth and fiery eyes.

A briefcase lay in his hoof.

“No!” Sam cried. “Mr. Jenkins!”

“I got a job to finish,” said the Goat, leering down. “And afterwards, sýntrofos Ahmos, I am going to tear you to shreds.”

He gathered his feet beneath him and shot off to shore – just in time for water to pool at Sam’s feet, and the ship to finally give in and sink.

“We gotta go after him!” Guy called over the groaning metal and flickering lights. “Come on! Get on my back!”

Sam obediently crawled on, spitting salt and blinking water from his eyes. “We’ll need a shower so badly after this.”

Guy’s voice, rough with terror: “agreed.”

*

“Guy!”

“Sam, no!” Those eyes staring up at him from beneath the net, so pleadingly and frantic, were the same that had stared at him ten thousand times before. “As your best friend, I’m telling you to flee! Go! Save Mr. Jenkins!”

Sam inhaled sharply. “I’ll find you,” he whispered. He clutched Mr. Jenkins tighter to his chest, rising his voice to call, “I’ll find you!” before running off into the city.

And not a moment too soon.

*

He ordered the cold air balloon ticket on an internet café, patted Mr. Jenkin’s briefcase, had a cup of tea and green eggs and ham on toast, and set off for the BAD headquarters to rescue his soulmate before he lost him all over again.

*

In the fourth interrogation room Sam checked was a grumpy chub of Knox waiting with crossed arms. “There you are!” said Sam, beaming down at him from the ceiling. “You have no idea how many empty rooms there are in this building.”

Guy flatly said, “you have a lot of aliases.”

“A-yup! Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

“No, wait,” said Guy, holding up his hand. “I’ve not told them anything – for all they know I’m ignorant of all this.” He made a sweeping gesture over the table he was chained to, which was, indeed, covered with wanted posters of Sam’s various alter egos. “If I tell them who the collector is, they’ll let me go free.”

Sam lit up. “Oh, perfect! That gets him off our backs! Oh, please tell me they got the Goat…”

Guy nodded stiffly. “They did. So? Who’s the collector?”

“It’s Snerz. Where do we meet when you get out?”

Guy sagged over, a relieved smile flitting over his face. “The air balloon station. Now scram! Before they catch you!”

Warm from head to toe with gratitude, Sam blew him a quick kiss before scurrying back up Mr. Jenkin’s neck.

*

“How long ‘til departure?” asked Guy, squinting down at the ticket Sam had handed off.

“Twenty minutes or so,” said Sam. He hopped onto the café barstool and rubbed his hands together. “Which means, plenty of time to have some green eggs and ham!”

Chuckling, Guy shook his head and sat beside him. “Of course it is.” He was quiet until Sam placed his order, after which he – with humour in his voice – asked, “why do you have so many aliases anyway?”

Sam blinked. “Well – I, it’s… it’s complicated. But – nobody’s ever…” He looked away, shrugging a shoulder. “Nobody's ever wanted me to stay the same person before. I’m – I’m so used to changing, I’ve done it for as long as I can remember, and – and no one has ever stuck around for long enough.”

A hand on his shoulder; so broad the fingers splayed out across his shoulder blade and tickled at the nape of his neck. “I want you to stay the same, Sam. I want you to be you.”

A lull in the conversation as the bartender placed a steaming plate of green eggs and ham before him. Sam smiled sadly, pulling it closer. “You’ll leave eventually, Guy. Everyone always does.”

“No, Sam. I won’t.”

Sam shook his head with an unamused chuckle and reached for his fork.

Guy exhaled. Hard. “And this is how much I mean it!” he snapped, snatching the plate to himself.

“Guy!” Sam gasped. He hadn’t even been self-deprecating; Guy leaving one day was a simple fact! “Guy, you don’t have to do this!”

“No, I don’t,” agreed Guy – and with one, quick move he speared an egg on his fork. “But I will.”

And he shoved the egg into his mouth.

He chewed.

And chewed.

And, slowly, his shoulders lowered. He breathed, softly, some note of tension easing from his muscles. “Say,” he muttered, opening his eyes just a glimmer to offer Sam a tender little smile. “I like green eggs and ham. I do; I like them, Sam I-Am.”

Sam’s smile was wobbly. There hadn’t been a doubt in him, not for days now, and yet… hoarsely, he whispered, “I knew you would.”

Just then, of course, Snerz’ voice rose to a shrill above the hum of the crowd: “that’s my chickeraffe!”

*

Sam gaped up, up, up, all the way to station 71 at the very tippy top of the airballoon station. “Dilikins! We’re never gonna make it!”

“Not with that attitude,” Guy muttered, ears whipping in the wind. “New plan! Follow me!”

“Right!” called Sam, hot on his tail when he sped up the stairs.

And then the world stopped spinning for two whole seconds when Guy flung himself off the edge of the tower.

Only a moment later Sam realized he’d just jumped onto the airballoon beneath them.

“Jump!” Guy called.

I’m going to find you again, Sam thought, again and again and again. If I don’t, if we don’t, if none of us make it, I will find you again.

He launched himself into the air.

*

It was only three minutes later Guy launched himself into the air, strapped to one of his inventions and hoping for the absolute best. Sam watched him go with his heart in his throat. If the Goat caught him, he would die.

I’m going to find you again. Again and again and again!

He ended up fine. More than fine; when he swung back down onto the platform with a relieved smile and a straighter back than Sam had ever seen him with, Sam flung his arms around his waist and pulled him into the tightest hug he could muster.

“You’re crazy,” he whispered into Guy’s fur – and giggled, when Guy lifted him into his arms to return the hug better. “Crazy amazing.”

Guy chuckled, one arm tight around Sam’s torso and the other snug beneath his thighs, rubbing his cheek against Sam’s. “Yeah, well – you’re not too bad yourself.”

“Sam! Guy!” It was E.B, winded and hair in a disarray, running towards them at full speed. “I saw everything! That was so cool, Guy! Is Mr. Jenkins safe? Where’s Snerz? And the BADGUYS? And the Goat?”

Sam chuckled. Guy didn’t put him down, so he only wound an arm around his neck to better face E.B. “Mr. Jenkin’s on his way home, now. Snerz and the Goat are both being taken care of by security – at least I think the Goat is, he might not have – ”

Guy pinched his thigh.

“Aaaahahaha, right, yup! Totally being taken care of by security!” Not possibly fallen to his death at all, nope, nu-uh. “And the BADGUYS…”

“They let us go,” said Guy, and the grin was audible in his voice.

Michellee, who had caught up with her daughter and was notably more winded, gave a breathy, “they what?” before doubling over with her hands on her knees.

“Yeah, they let us go,” Sam repeated. “It was my one last job, I told them.”

E.B cocked her head. “Your one last job? Of what?”

Sam smirked. “Of being a conman, of course.”

Beat.

“You WHAT!?”

*

And so came around the long explanation of who he’d been and what he’d done, most of which was a surprise to Michellee and none of which was a surprise to E.B. There were no hard feelings – most of these conversations were happening in Michellee’s rented car while they drove back to Glurfsburg – and despite some faint grumbling, Michellee still extended an invitation for both Guy and Sam to visit at any time.

Back in Glurfsburg Michellee dropped them off at Guy’s address – a worn, beat-down apartment he’d bought when he first moved there. “Paid for by some old patents,” Guy explained, letting Sam in to see his miniature workstation, kitchenette, and bedroom – all in one. “It’s really all I can afford.”

Sam did a three-sixty to take in the full apartment – with its cracked tiles and askew lamp and suspicious stain on the floor.

“Sell it,” he said.

Guy blinked. “What?”

“Sell it,” said Sam again, rounding on him with a beam. “There’s space for a caravan on my lot. Move in with me!”

Guy blinked again. Slowly.

He snorted. Then chuckled; then laughed, quiet but genuine. “You, Sam I-Am,” he said, “are the most impulsive person I have ever met. ‘Sell it. Buy a caravan. Move in with me’.” He shook his head, hands on his hips as he leveled Sam with a warm look.

Within three weeks he’d sold his apartment, bought a caravan, and moved in. It wasn’t big, and not a lot – and after just a few days of living separately, they changed Sam’s trailer to their living space and Guy’s to their work.

Michellee invited them over for dinner the following weekend. They shared the good news; she offered Guy a job at her workplace; Sam admitted he was going to a job interview at Donna’s Diner; E.B talked about how her hike with her classmates had gone.

A week later they visited for dinner and board games. The week after, movie night and popcorn and cuddles (the cuddles weren’t scheduled, but Sam fell asleep with his head in Guy’s lap and his ass in Michellee’s, and the two of them were leaning on each other’s shoulders the whole time). And the weekend after that, E.B begged the two of them to stay overnight so they could join her for school breakfast the next morning.

“But, E.B,” said Michellee, glancing between Guy and Sam, “we only have one guestbed…”

“No worries,” said Sam, who’d been sharing a bed with Guy for nearly two months.

Guy chuckled. “No worries at all.”

So they stayed the night. And then another; and then a third.

They went home for two days, but were asked to watch E.B while Michellee went on an overnight job trip to the neighbouring city. Sam cooked dinner and Guy taught her how to connect wires without them lighting on fire, and afterwards they watched a movie and helped her study for her history exam.

All three fell asleep on the couch, and when they woke the next morning, E.B had put herself to bed and given them her duvet.

When Michellee came home Sam cooked dinner again, and all four of them shared – she told them about her trip; E.B told her about the movie and Sam distracted her from why there was a scorch mark in the living room carpet by putting on a horrid imitation of her boss.

It was easy – almost too easy – going to bed in the same house as they woke up. So Sam and Guy just sort of… continued doing it. On and off, they started spending more time in the Weebie household than the I-Am-Am-I; one day there, the other here, a few days there, some here.

“You know,” said Michellee, one day they dropped by for dinner just because it was closest to work, “you could just move in. I – I mean, it’s the logic step, right? It’s cheaper to pay down the house, and – and cooking for four is cheaper than two! And then you don’t have to travel across town to watch E.B, and we don’t have to wonder if we’re going to have visitors or not, because you’ll just – ”

Sam took Michellee’s hand and squeezed. “We’d love to.”

Michellee laughed, putting a hand to her forehead. “Oh, good. I don’t know what I’d tell E.B if you refused.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’d just kidnap us in the middle of the night,” said Sam cheerily.

Guy and Michellee chuckled. “She would, wouldn’t she?” said Michellee. “That’s my daughter, alright. My whimsy, wonderful daughter.”

“I heard that!” came a call from the living room.

*

It was the next day, having left a bit too early to pick up E.B from school, Sam and Guy stopped by a diner to catch lunch.

“Okay, boys,” said the server, ready to take their order. “What can I get for ya?”

“Tough call!” Sam rubbed his chin, looking over the menu with a critical eye. “Lots of choices here. Purple pancakes… sounds lovely, but… do you have any specials?”

With a heavy sigh, Guy reached over and plucked the menu from his hands. “Two orders of green eggs and ham, please. Thank you.”

Oh, yes. That was Sam’s soulmate, alright.

“What?” said Guy.

“What, what?”

Guy raised his newspaper just a slight bit. His reddened cheeks were peering just shy of the edge. “You’re staring.”

Sam rested his face in his hands with a hum. “I was just thinking,” he said, smiling softly.

“About what?”

“How lucky I am, to be your friend.”

Guy raised the newspaper even further. “Oh, stop it, Sam.”

“Mmm, alright, buddy.” Sam lowered his voice to a purr. “If you say so.”

But he really was lucky to be Guy’s friend. Too many times he’d floundered his relationship with his soulmate – often losing them too soon, too early; being too forward and too extreme. Last time – when Guy was Ash and he was Zookie – he’d scared them off three times. All by talking about soulmates, and reincarnation, and chasing them through millennia. It wasn’t before they started having memories and strange dreams that they tentatively returned.

There was no way Sam was going through that again. No matter how much it ached to not pursue the last inch of relationship with Guy; no matter how much he wanted to cross the distance and kiss him and just say, in all honesty, I love you with all I am, and I always have, and I always will.

The server placed down their green eggs and hams. “Thanks!” Sam chirped.

He unfolded his fork. He cut through an egg; placed it into his mouth; chewed.

The flavour settled.

Sam dropped the fork.

“Sam?” said Guy, brows furrowing. “What’s going on?”

“The eggs,” Sam whispered. “They’re my moms.”