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Charles rolled to a stop in front of the door and looked at the sign. He read it four times before feeling confident enough that he was at the right place to go in.
The door dinged softly as he passed through the entry, and a bored looking teen with her feet on the desk looked from her phone to him.
“Mutant Soulmate Discovery Service, how can I help?” She asked, putting her feet and phone away.
“I suppose I’m here to find my soulmate,” Charles said, closing the distance between him and the front desk.
“You’re in the right place,” She assured, bored expression shifting to a soft smile as she produced a form, stuck it to a clipboard, and held it out to him. “Take your time filling these out. The more detail, the better, and we’ll get you in the system and see if any matches pop up.”
Charles nodded, wheeling away from the desk to hunch over the forms.
- Please state your name.
Charles filled it in.
- Please state your mutation.
Telepath. Very powerful.
Charles wondered for a moment if that was too much, but the girl at the desk had said the more detail, the better. He shrugged to himself and moved on.
- Is your soulmate’s name A) Feminine, B) Masculine, C) Gender Neutral?
Charles shrugged his sleeve back, exposing the name on his left wrist. As always, the impeccably printed Maxine popped into view. He glanced away, but a faint whiff of cologne filled his nose, and a whisper of something metallic ached in the back of his throat.
With a small purse of his lips, Charles filled the bubble next to feminine , but a sinking feeling of betrayal in his gut gave him pause.
Never before had it been so strong, not even when he tried to think of his soulmate, of his body and hers intertwined. Even then, the mental image of his lips encountering stubble nearly overwhelmed him and Charles felt like he was lying to himself.
He shook his head and continued on filling out the form.
- What is your soulmate’s name?
He scratched in his soulmate’s name as the door dinged softly and someone shuffled in, yawning and smelling strongly of coffee. Charles ignored the stranger, tuning out the blip on his mental radar as he focused on the form.
- Does looking at or touching your soulmark give you any indication of your partner’s powers?
Charles thought back to the metallic tang in his throat, the warm burst of pleasure in the back of his mind whenever he twiddled a coin in his fingers.
Something with metal, most likely.
- Does looking at or touching your soulmark give you any indication of your partner’s appearance?
Cologne/perfume. Charles put immediately. Occasionally stubble. Reddish hair?
- Please briefly describe some key aspects of your appearance.
Brown hair, blue eyes. Wheelchair user. Charles took a moment to debate if he should specify why he needed a wheelchair, but figured it couldn’t hurt and filled it in. Paralyzed from the waist down.
He wondered if that was something his soulmate felt whenever they looked at his name on their wrist. If he could look at the name and conjure up images of metal and stubble, would his soulmate see blue eyes and feel a tingling in their toes?
He decided he’d have to ask when he found out.
- Is there anything additional you think you know about your soulmate that we should know?
I think my soulmate is stubborn. Occasionally the mark stings, something that also happens to my sister when her soulmate is angry.
- Is there anything additional we should know about your soulmark?
Charles thought long and hard about the question before leaving it blank and moving on.
- How did you find out about the Mutant Soulmate Discovery Service?
Charles smirked at the last question, not having expected it to not be about him or his soulmate.
It’s how my sister found her partner. I had to see if I could get the same results.
*
Charles resisted the urge to chew on the pen as he scanned the answers. Lastly, he flipped through the next page to sign a release, saying he was aware his personal information wouldn’t be duplicated or put out on the internet, and would only be used to look for mutants who had registered in soulmate-finding databases.
He dropped the clipboard back in his lap and crossed the small waiting room again to hand back the forms.
Once relieved, he pulled out his phone, focusing on that rather than the slow clacking of keys as the girl began to copy his form into the computer. He texted Raven, letting her know that he had finally followed her advice and gone to the same place she had gone to to find Irene.
Raven texted him back immediately, demanding to know everything. Charles rolled his eyes and started focusing on a reply.
“You can go take your break, Angel,” a harsh voice cut into Charles’ focus, and he was momentarily distracted as the man who had entered before took the girl’s seat and picked up his form.
The man was focused on his work, eyes glued to the screen. Light stubble shadowed his face.
For reasons he could not identify, Charles felt his cheeks begin to burn, as if scratched.
Charles narrowed his eyes at the man curiously, gaze dropping to the long, elegant fingers carefully putting his information in the computer.
“A telepath?” The man asked, making a quiet sound of approval. “That’s an impressive power to have-” he slid his finger up the page to find the answer he was looking for, “-Charles.”
A soft laugh escaped Charles’ nose. “You flatter me.”
The man smiled softly at the computer.
“Are you the proprietor of this establishment?” Charles asked a moment of silence, deciding to try and make conversation.
“I am. Erik Lehnsherr,” the owner replied, nodding a little as his eyes flicked back and forth from the screen to the computer.
“And what is it, Erik, that inspires a man to open a mutant-focused matching business?” Charles prodded.
Erik took a deep breath, glaring at the screen as if he were seeking comfort.
“I don’t have a soulmark. It was destroyed when I was young,” he said.
Charles closed his eyes for a long moment and reopened them, nearly positive he knew the answer to his next question.
“Destroyed?”
“I’m sure you’re familiar with the Shaw Institution. Posing as a school for mutants, promising that everyone who attended would learn how to use their powers as productive members of society. Merely a front for a training facility because he was trying to create a mutant army,” Erik said, gritting his teeth as he continued talking.
“I’m familiar with it,” Charles managed. He had watched it unfold on the television when he was five, as one escaped child convinced her parents to call the police, leading to a federal sting, leading to the entire institution being broken down.
Charles never forgot the children on TV, the same age as him, identical burn marks on all of their wrists where the names of their soulmates had been burned off.
“Yes, well, Shaw was convinced that there was no need for a soulmate in his plan for world domination,” Erik finally broke the awkward silence settling around their shoulders. “Maybe I’m hoping that my soulmate will stroll in one day and everything will work out.”
“I opened a real school for mutants when I was able to,” Charles blurted. “Seeing everything fall apart, the live broadcasts, all of that, I converted my home into a school when I grew up. I wanted the younger generation of mutants to never worry about having the same experience they would be reading about in school.”
“Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters?” Erik asked, apparently guessing from Charles’ last name on the form. Charles made a small noise of affirmation.
“I’ve heard good things,” Erik continued. “I never looked into it myself, but it seems like everything Shaw’s school was not.”
“I’ve always hoped that my soulmate would be someone who would want to help run the school, or teach,” Charles admitted, though Erik had gone very quiet.
Erik turned around, his back to Charles as Erik perused the forms.
“I hope you find the person you’re looking for,” Charles said quietly. The hard lines of Erik’s shoulders eased a little.
“I do appreciate that,” Erik said, turning around and changing the subject. “Is there anything you neglected to put on the form?” he asked, holding up the clipboard and tapping the empty line that read, Is there anything additional we should know about your soulmark?
The empty line glared at Charles. Charles glared back.
“Well, I hardly see how it’s relevant, but I was recently told that my soulmark might have been tampered with,” Charles admitted. “But I took it with a grain of salt, given that my mother’s always been a compulsive liar and she managed to be inebriated, even on her deathbed.”
The man’s eyebrows went up and he put down the clipboard to face Charles.
Charles swallowed nervously, hesitant to look the man in the eye. He hadn’t yet look Erik fully in the face, something he was realizing as he looked at the clipboard.
“I admit now, it might be more relevant than I thought,” he said, looking up.
Charles’ eyes widened. Every muscle in his body tensed. It was as if he had been tossed into the ocean in the middle of November, but his blood had been set on fire.
Erik’s eyes were perfect. His steel gaze locked onto Charles’.
“Hello,” Erik murmured.
“I don’t understand,” Charles said.
“Soulmates rarely make sense,” Erik replied. “Though it is a relief to know that your eyes are as blue as I’d imagined when I still had a mark.”
Charles’ mouth opened and closed, not unlike a fish who is similarly confused about the state of things. He stared at Erik, inhaling the scent of his cologne. It smelled like home.
“But the name,” He finally managed, pulling his sleeve back without breaking eye contact.
Erik looked away, painfully breaking the sudden connection to examine Charles’ wrist.
“Maxine?” He asked.
“I suppose my mother was telling the truth in her last moments,” Charles said, looking at his wrist.
They watched as the name rippled, the ine fading away.
“I take it your name isn’t actually Erik?” Charles looked to the other man.
“Max,” Erik replied, leaning back in his seat, “Is a name I haven’t heard in years. Not since Shaw. After, I took my grandfather’s name. At first, it was to preserve a certain degree of anonymity in my life. But I’ve come to think of Max as the person I was before the school. Erik is who I am now.”
Charles nodded, understanding.
“As long as I have you in person,” Charles said, “Whatever name you go by is perfect to me.”
He reached out to take Erik’s hand.
Erik pulled away. “The mark is long gone. There’s nothing to see there.”
Charles withdrew respectfully, giving Erik space. “I’m just glad that I found you.”
Erik smiled, baring his teeth. “Me too.”
*
That night, Charles gently woke Erik as he cried out in his sleep.
Stubbornly, Charles realized as his wrist burned, Erik rolled over and burrowed into Charles’ side, insisting that nothing was wrong.
“Bad dream,” Erik muttered, warm breath tickling Charles’ neck.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Charles asked. “I think we can establish a certain degree of trust, if you’d like. This is hardly a one night stand.”
Erik squeezed his eyes shut, nodding once, curtly, before sitting up and turning on Charles’ bedside light. Charles propped himself up against his pillows, listening.
“I was—” Erik started, faltering immediately. “I never talk about this.”
“We don’t have to,” Charles said quickly. “Not if you’re not ready.”
“You’re right though. If we’re going to really give this everything we’ve got, I need to know that I can trust you. And I want to trust you. I just don’t do that,” Erik said. He dragged his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath. “It was like I was back at the school. And I was watching them burn your name from my wrist. And I couldn’t do anything to stop it. They made me feel like I was never going to find you.”
“You did find me,” Charles said, trying to be reassuring. “And nobody was able to stop that.”
“I did find you,” Erik echoed. “I’m glad I did.”
Charles reached out, twining their fingers together.
Without thinking, he lifted their hands, pressing a soft kiss to Erik’s wrist.
“May I look?” he asked as he lowered their hands back to the mattress, thumb brushing over the raised lump of scar tissue.
Erik shrugged. “It’s not like there’s anything to see. The mark is long gone.”
Charles smiled and turned Erik’s hand over.
There, in his neatest handwriting, was the name
Charles
, standing out defiantly against the pink scar tissue of Erik’s wrist.