Whumpee who has been forced to kneel for so long and so many times that their knees are just kind of flat, now. Whumpee who has lost all feeling in their knees and suffers frequent bouts of numbness in their lower legs now. Whumpee who has a specific place at their whumper's side that they're supposed to kneel and the grain on the floor there is worn from how often they're kneeling in that spot ❤❤
Honestly, I don't think he's gonna get super far down this trail as much as he's going to try and convince himself that he's numb. I think at this point, Keefe feels like his emotions are a weakness, that any pain he feels is holding him back, that every happiness is a window towards suffering.
I think he sits there wondering why he can't stop hurting.
I don't think it will ever make him numb.
And I think he really wishes it would.
I think he prays for silence, prays for it all just to stop, for him to just stop feeling, but everything only gets faster, everything only gets stronger, his feelings only get more intense, the pain just gets harder to deal with, and he's just sitting there, a mess, on the floor, staring at the ceiling wondering why he can't just shut it off.
Everyone else can shut it off.
Sophie can shut it off. Fitz can shut it off.
Why can't he? Can't he do even one thing right? Be strong enough to just deal with it, lock it in a closet, never touch it again?
But everything just gets harder. Everything just gets stronger.
Notes: saw this post and my brain said “analogical soulmate AU,” this is the product! please disregard the title i couldnt think of anything
Pairings: platonic Analogical, background Royality, other familial pairings
Word count: 7714
Warnings: feelings of numbness, discussion of the future, fear of the future, fear of failure, growing up, existential thoughts and conversations, mentions of sickness, mentions of pet death, please let me know if i missed anything!
Summary: When Logan is eight, he learns about soulmates for the first time. Apparently when he turns eighteen, words will appear on his skin—the first words his soulmate will ever say to him.
“Soulmates are just people that the universe thinks can change your life,” Mx. Picani explains. “And sometimes they do. But other times the universe makes a mistake, or they change your life in ways that the universe didn’t expect. And that’s okay, that’s just part of being human. The universe can push us in the right direction, but we’re the ones who have to pave our paths from there.”
(Looking back on it, Logan thinks that’s when his fascination with space really began.)
The universe is vast and mystical, and it works in mysterious ways. Logan knows this. He loves the universe with all his heart, he loves gazing at the shimmering specks of light in the inky sky, he loves seeing pictures of stars and planets and galaxies and the absolute wonder that is his universe.
As Logan grows, he’s taught that the universe is more than just a place to live in. In a way, it’s alive as well—except it isn’t, but it works like a planet or an ecosystem, all parts affecting and influencing each other. Logan will admit that it is a bit terrifying, sometimes, but he loves the universe and all of its little quirks and mysteries. Some days, he looks up at the stars and imagines all of the secrets hidden in them and all of the different pathways woven into the stars. He wonders how many paths were walked and how many were left unexplored in the pursuit of a figurative road less traveled.
Some days, Logan marvels at how the universe gives them the tools they need to make their way out of the nest, but it lets them take flight all on their own. Some days, Logan looks up at the universe and wonders about how, in all its glory, the universe made a tiny space just for him.
He thinks it’s a little frightening, but Logan loves his universe.
*
When Logan is eight, he learns about soulmates for the first time. Apparently when he turns eighteen, words will appear on his skin—the first words his soulmate will ever say to him. In school one day, they take the day off and instead shepherd all the kids down to the auditorium, where Mx. Picani, the principal, gives them a presentation on soulmates. Logan learns that red writing indicates that your soulmate will be romantic and blue writing means that your soulmate will be platonic or queerplatonic, and when you find your soulmate the writing turns black.
The next few slides are an explanation of how some people don’t have soulmates, some people end up with someone who isn’t their soulmate, some people become romantic partners with their platonic soulmates or platonic partners with their romantic soulmates, some people’s words change after meeting their soulmates because even fate can’t predict everything, and some people defy norms in other ways, and all of that is more than okay.
“Soulmates are just people that the universe thinks can change your life,” Mx. Picani explains. “And sometimes they do. But other times the universe makes a mistake, or they change your life in ways that the universe didn’t expect. And that’s okay, that’s just part of being human. The universe can push us in the right direction, but we’re the ones who have to pave our paths from there.”
(Looking back on it, Logan thinks that’s when his fascination with space really began.)
When Logan gets home, he tells his parents that he learned about soulmates in school and wastes no time in telling them everything he learned. Then he asks Papa if he and Dad are romantic soulmates or platonic soulmates or something else.
Papa smiles at him and ruffles his hair a bit and says that he and Dad aren’t soulmates.
Logan considers, shrugs, and says, “Okay!”
And that’s the end of that.
*
When Logan is twelve he interviews his parents for a school project. He’s a rather serious child by now, preferring plain clothing to more outlandish things like the vividly patterned shirts Dad wears or Papa’s cat hoodie. Somewhere in the last four years he got glasses, wiry round frames reminiscent of Harry Potter. Logan prefers his books to watching TV, and he’d rather be out at night, alone with the stars, than have to be with his peers. He’s okay with it, but he knows his dads are a bit worried—he hears them whispering to each other at night when they think he’s asleep.
The school project is about soulmates, and Logan isn’t too enthusiastic about it. If he has to learn about soulmates, he’d rather learn about the science and mythology and space behind it—constellations and astrological signs and phases of the moon, galaxies and stars colliding, somehow all of it coming together to make space for them all there on earth. Sure, the science behind soulmates is sketchy, most of it speculation, but Logan thinks it’d be fascinating to learn about nonetheless.
He’s heard the older kids say that he’ll learn about that next year, though, so Logan has something to look forward to.
Regardless, this project should be interesting because it gives him an excuse to interview his parents (if only Papa would just stop gushing over how “cute” and “grown up” he is). Logan sits them down and asks the questions from the sheet they were assigned in class in his most formal tone, and his parents answer everything.
Logan learns that Papa has a soulmate, but after some time getting to know each other, his soulmate realized that he was aromantic and asexual and didn’t want a relationship of any sort. After some time, they drifted apart.
Meanwhile, Dad doesn’t have a soulmate. He and Papa met in college, though, and became friends and slowly fell for each other.
“And, well, the rest is history,” Dad says, pecking Papa on the lips.
Logan makes a face. “Ew, gross.”
Dad smirks and makes a big show of kissing Logan’s forehead. In return, Logan makes a big show of wiping it off. Dad just laughs.
*
When Logan is fourteen he goes on a trip to the Grand Canyon. Papa and Dad have been planning this for a while, and Logan is thrilled beyond belief—they all are. Dad is looking forward to going hiking. Papa is excited to spend time with his family and see all the wildlife and natural formations. Logan can’t wait—the geology, exposed rock layers portraying the passage of time, and the culture and the sheer science and discovery in the area… all of it is a dream come true.
The canyon itself is magnificent. Layers of rock—red and brown and yellow and orange draped in mystical purple shadows—lead down, where a glittering strip that must be the Colorado river is just barely visible. Rock formations jut out of the earth, and the view is breathtaking. Logan finds himself rattling off facts about the possible causes for each formation, reciting facts about erosion and everything he’s learned. His dads don’t seem to mind, thankfully, listening and occasionally humming in interest as they take in the view and snap pictures.
Here, the earth beneath his feet is fascinating in unimaginable ways. Layer upon layer of history lies around him. Logan has never been happier to be grounded on his planet than he is now.
That night, the sky is cloudy, but Logan and Dad found a book about constellations in the gift shop when they were going to dinner earlier, so he pores over that until his parents quietly tell him that it’s bed time. Unfortunately, they’re all in the same room, so Logan can’t read under the covers like he usually does.
The next day, Papa shakes him awake. “Logan, c’mon, I wanna see the sunrise,” he whispers, and Logan is filled with fondness for just how childlike and wonderstruck his father sounds. They tiptoe quietly out the door so as not to wake Dad, who is far from a morning person, and hurry down to the canyon. The sun’s first rays wash over the canyon, causing yellow and orange and purple ripples of light to shimmer along its walls, the sky is a backdrop of pink and orange filled with pale purple clouds, and Logan thinks that he’s never seen anything quite so magical before.
Later that day, after Dad wakes up and they’ve all had breakfast and Logan has been slathered in so much sunscreen it’s unbearable, they hike a little ways down the canyon. Dad does think that it might be fun to go all the way to the bottom—“An adventure!” he declares grandly, and Logan rolls his eyes—but Papa and Logan are hardly athletic, so they haven’t made any plans for that on this trip. Instead, they carefully hike a good ways down, stopping at an outlook to snack on sandwiches and trail mix before beginning the trek back to the canyon’s rim. Each bend in the path brings a new, spectacular view. As the sun and shadows shift, different parts of the canyon are plunged into darkness. It looks like something out of science fiction. Logan has never felt so small, humble, and awed before.
He has to amend that statement later that night, of course. The sky is clear today, and Logan has been outside since sunset, sitting on Dad’s lap in the grass even though he’s getting a little too old for that now. The Grand Canyon supposedly has zero light pollution, and Logan is positive that he has never been more excited about anything in his life. He sits quietly with Dad—Papa is already asleep, tuckered out after their hike, but he says he’ll go stargazing with Logan tomorrow—and closes his eyes to rest them for a minute. The next thing he knows, he is groggily blinking as Dad shakes his shoulder. The orange, red, and purple streaks of sky have been replaced with a deep ebony shade, and… oh.
Logan cranes his head up, hastily cleaning his glasses on his shirt. The sky is easily the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. It’s almost pitch black out, dark enough that Logan can barely make out his dad’s face, but that only makes the stars easier to see.
And they’re so beautiful. The night is an inky canvas, and the stars are like little glowing flecks splattered onto it, twinkling and spanning out indefinitely. “Speechless” has never been a word to describe Logan, but that’s exactly how he feels right now. Logan stands, beaming as he cranes his neck so far back he almost falls over. He stumbles, tripping over his feet as he spins around and giggles softly, gazing at the sky above.
Logan has always been a calm, rational person, and he’s not the best at expressing emotion. Right now, though, he is positively giddy as he twirls, logical thought entirely gone as he stares up at the vast expanse of sky, giggling and smiling so hard his face hurts. Logan has always been serious and grounded, not one for flowery language, but in this moment he floats; in this moment he is made of stars.
*
When Logan is fifteen he thinks that he has never felt so alone. School feels like it is suffocating him, he’s disconnected from his peers, and he doesn’t have the slightest clue about how to tell his parents something’s wrong. Perhaps worst of all, he can’t feel anything anymore. Science and English class no longer excite him the way that they used to—although Mr. Duke, his biology teacher, is a lifeline—and even learning about the stars and their universe isn’t enough to elicit a smile.
Logan is growing into himself a bit more, though he wishes the process would hurry up a bit. For now he’s a tall, lanky teen with a face marked with pimples and a voice that won’t stop cracking. Dad regales him with awkward stories about his teenage years while Papa cries about how much he’s grown. Logan goes along with it and wishes the emptiness pervading him would go away.
He’s said before that he doesn’t like emotions, but suddenly everything about his world feels dull, or monochromatic. He gets an A and feels nothing—it’s what’s expected. He’s assigned a fun project and goes through the motions—anything for that perfect grade. Nothing in life seems to have meaning anymore except for school, and school is slowly crushing him. At night he buries his face into his pillow and wishes he could cry, wishes the invisible aches in his chest would stop when there’s nothing physically wrong with him, so why does his body still hurt. Logan wants to ask for help, to make the emptiness go away, but every time he opens his mouth his voice seizes up and the words crawl back down his throat.
He’s not usually one for figurative language, but it seems to be the only accurate way to describe the new state of his life.
“Papa?” Logan asks one evening. Dad is working late, so the two of them are having dinner alone together. The room feels cold, or maybe that’s just Logan.
“What’s up, kiddo?” Papa replies, and usually Logan scoffs at the childish nickname but today it feels so accurate; today he feels just like a little kid again, small enough to crawl onto his Papa’s lap and somehow believe that’s enough to protect him from the world.
Logan looks down at his mashed potatoes and for the first time in months, a tear runs down his face.
“Papa, I’m—I’m not okay.”
*
When Logan is sixteen, he realizes that he has no clue what he’s doing with his life. College is growing nearer at an alarming rate and Logan doesn’t have the slightest idea what he wants. His longest lasting dream is to study soulmate sciences in relation to astrology, with astrophysics as another strong contender, but is that really what he wants from the rest of his life? Logan doesn’t know anymore.
School is only getting harder and more demanding, and although Logan has talked to his parents, his therapist, his guidance counselor, and even Mr. Duke at really low points, and he’s tried to find more effective ways of managing things, he still feels like he’s drowning some days.
People have always asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” Logan has never had a concrete answer. When he was little he first said a father, then an astronaut, then a poet, then a scientist. At one point he wanted to be a cartographer. The closest he’s come to knowing what he wants to do with his life is his interest in soulmate sciences, but when he tries to imagine dedicating the rest of his life to it, there’s nothing there. Most days he can barely see the future, but when he can, a career in studying soulmate sciences has no part in it—not anymore. Besides, those were all the fleeting wishes of a small child, looking at the people around him and deciding that he ought to follow in their footsteps if only because he didn’t have other footsteps to follow. Now, though, he is older. Now he has to pave his own path and, frankly, that terrifies him.
Logan is good at school. He knows how to solve equations and write paragraphs and get good grades. He knows how much coffee he’ll need to pull through after an all-nighter and which classes he can afford to fall asleep in or skip an assignment for. He knows how to push aside his emotions and make himself stay up late enough to finish and perfect everything. He doesn’t quite know how to handle the debilitating numbness that accompanies his manner of handling things, but it’s alright, because he’s learning. One could call his methods of dealing with school unhealthy and they would probably be right, but at least he knows what to do. College and everything beyond is scary. It means having to grow up and pick a passion to stick with for the rest of his life, and Logan doesn’t know if he’s ready for that.
So he does what he does best: he falls apart behind an impeccably indifferent facade, lets Papa make him breakfast and hug him extra tight in the mornings, and lets Dad read to him before bed. He maintains his grades and “perfect student” mask. He deflects and lies whenever anyone asks how he’s doing, he pretends the numbness doesn’t feel like the end of the world whenever it seeps in, and he works on opening up to his therapist. Life goes on and he goes with it, trying to pretend he’s not freaking out about where it’s leading him.
Of course, even the present can’t be effortless. Logan rubs his eyes and bangs his head on the desk with a small huff. He’s been staring at the same math problem for about fifteen minutes, as a glance at the clock reveals, and he just can’t bring himself to understand it. The equation blurs, and Logan dazedly stumbles to the window and shoves it open, hoping some air will help. It doesn’t.
“What do you want from me?” he yells to the sky in an angry, emotional tone that doesn’t match the hollowness spreading through his veins. Then again, dull and blank and defeated: “What do you want from me.”
Nothing, Logan realizes. The universe wants nothing from him. It couldn’t care less about Logan. It doesn’t matter to the universe if Logan goes to college or what he does with his life; the universe doesn’t even care if he graduates high school or not! To the universe, Logan means nothing. Maybe that’s a good thing. The universe is the only thing that doesn’t have any expectations for Logan—not like his teachers who expect him to be perfect, not like his peers who wish he was normal, not like his therapist who expects him to be open, not like his soulmate (if he has one) who will expect love, not even like his parents who want him to be okay. The universe doesn’t want Logan to do anything but exist, if even that, and Logan is almost grateful for it.
He stares out into the chilly night for a moment longer and the stars stare back at him, but they don’t provide the solace that they usually give. With a sigh, Logan closes the window and goes back to his homework. He stares at the assignment for a minute before he groans, slamming his head on the desk again. He blinks and looks at the problem again. His head throbs. He can’t make his brain process the equation.
With a trembling hand, Logan grabs his pencil and writes “Sorry.” in the blank space on his paper where the problems he hasn’t done are supposed to go. Then he puts it away. It feels hard and wrong and different, though this isn’t quite the first assignment he’s failed to complete—that’s right, he’s a failure because he should be able to handle this but he couldn’t because he can’t do anything right, can he, and now his teacher will be disappointed because he failed to be the perfect student that everyone needs him to be and his dads will worry more and if the kids at school find out they’ll think he’s a failure too—
The only thing that saves him from going into a complete spiral is exhaustion. A bone-deep tiredness settles upon him, as though the hollowness previously encompassing him is filling with lead. Logan tucks away his fear and turmoil to let it fester for later, and he barely manages to put on his pajamas before collapsing into bed and burrowing into the blankets, letting the thought that maybe tomorrow will be better lull him to sleep.
He doesn’t believe it, but it’s a beautiful lie nonetheless.
*
When Logan is eighteen, he doesn’t go to college. He’s not quitting or failing, no matter what his mind might whisper to him. He just needs to remind himself how to breathe before he can try climbing the next mountain in life.
(Dad’s affinity for figurative language has clearly had more of an effect on him than he thought.)
Logan stays with his parents. He discusses everything from politics to music with Dad, volunteers at the animal shelter with Papa, and spends clear nights staring out his window, sometimes with the telescope his dads gave him a few years ago. He works at an afterschool daycare, where he helps the fourth graders with their homework and reads aloud to the first graders and plays tag with the third graders and tells the fifth graders about the different types of galaxies. Logan loves seeing their smiles and hearing their laughter and watching their passion grow, and the fact that he’s helping them along their journeys makes his heart swell.
Oh, and he finds out that he does have a soulmate. At midnight on his eighteenth birthday, an itch spreads across his forearm. When he looks down, the words “The big dipper” are scrawled across his wrist in red letters that almost remind him of blood. Logan thinks that it’s fitting that the prophesied love of his life’s first words to him will be about the stars. Then he pockets the thought and saves it for another day. His soulmate will find him someday (or maybe they’ll never find each other, and that’s alright too), and Logan has a life to live, with or without a few scarlet words on his wrist.
It’s when he’s waiting with Maria Alvarez at the aftercare center that it hits him. Once again, Maria’s mom is working late and his coworkers have headed home already (except for Beth, who’s doing paperwork), so it’s just the two of them. Logan half expects Maria to just read until her mom gets there, or maybe to ask him to play cards with her or something along those lines, but instead she looks at him with an eager, bright expression that he knows all too well and asks, “What are elliptical galaxies?”
Logan smiles and puts on his best teacher voice as he begins to explain. He’s just pulled up some pictures on his phone when Maria’s mom comes to pick her up. Logan watches, heart full, as she walks away, already telling Mrs. Alvarez about what she’s learned. Logan loves working with these kids, sharing his interests with them and seeing all the little ways it ignites that beautiful spark of passion in them. He thinks about Maria and all of the other kids and he thinks about Mr. Duke, who he knows he’ll remember forever, and then it hits him like a train and he straightens with a little gasp, unable to stop a painfully large smile from overtaking his face.
After getting the all-clear from Beth, who comments that it’s nice to see him looking so “peppy,” Logan heads home. “How was work?” Dad asks when he walks in the door.
Logan beams. “I want to be a teacher.”
Later, he considers this new thought again. It’s quite different from any of his original plans for his life, but maybe that’s alright. For the first time in years, Logan can see a future.
*
When Logan is twenty-two, now back in school, he meets Virgil. He’s taking an astronomy class, just for fun, and they’re given some time to socialize, so he smiles professionally at the person next to him—slouched over with long bangs and a few piercings—and asks, “What’s your favorite constellation? Mine’s Orion, I love the mythology behind it.”
The man stiffens and replies slowly, “The big dipper.”
Logan’s wrist begins to itch as the words on it morph until they are inked in black, the letters stark against his skin. Logan blinks, then smiles cordially.
“I’m Logan, he/him pronouns,” he says pleasantly, as though his heart is not thudding in his chest and his entire being doesn’t feel like it’s shaking with excitement or perhaps terror because this is his soulmate and maybe it will lead to nothing, just another passing event in the story of Logan’s life, but it can also be everything. As a scientist, Logan has learned to love possibilities, and this encounter is brimming with them. “What’s your name?”
“Virgil. He/they.” Their words are stilted, and he appears to be trying to hide behind their bangs.
Logan tries to veer the conversation into what he hopes is safer territory. “So, how come the big dipper is your favorite?”
Virgil’s shoulders relax the tiniest amount. Logan counts that as a win.
They talk about constellations and stars until the class resumes, and afterwards they talk some more. Logan tells Virgil how he’s planning to teach highschool science—most likely biology, he admits, and Virgil quietly expresses support. In turn, Logan learns about how Virgil wants to be an aerospace engineer—specifically, working in astronautical engineering—and he can’t help the massive grin that spreads across his face. Aerospace engineering isn’t a career that Logan considered very strongly—while it is undeniably fascinating, Logan is far more interested in space itself than the machines that traverse it—but it still intrigues him a great deal. He’s delighted to find that his soulmate shares some of his passions. Prompted by Logan, Virgil tells him about what they’ve been learning, and Logan hangs onto every word. Finally, Logan realizes just how late it’s gotten when Virgil says they have to head home.
It’s when he’s in the car, his soulmate already long gone, that Logan realizes they forgot to exchange phone numbers. It’s alright, he reminds himself. If nothing else, they’ll see each other again at the next astronomy class.
As it turns out, they don’t even have to wait that long.
Logan is driving home from a visit to the bookstore when he sees a hooded figure hunched over and walking along the sidewalk. It’s raining pretty hard, dark clouds and downpour covering the sky that Logan loves so much, and the person doesn’t have an umbrella. Logan slows his car and rolls down the window.
“It’s rather wet out, would you like to borrow my um—Virgil?”
Logan’s soulmate looks at him through eyes far too red for the water on their face to only be rain. Logan tries to smile warmly. “Would you like a ride?” he says, and perhaps it’s unwise to offer a ride to someone he’s only really met once, but he can’t bring himself to care right now. (This is exactly the type of stupidly kind thing Papa would do, the sort of thing Logan always warned him against. Now look who’s going soft.)
Virgil only hesitates for a moment before climbing in the car. Logan passes them his coat.
“I don’t have a towel, but you can use my jacket if you’d like.”
Virgil dries himself off and looks up through red-rimmed eyes. “Thank you.” His voice is choked and wobbly and a little hoarse.
Logan smiles gently. There’s clearly something wrong, so Logan offers, “Would you like to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?” In an instant Virgil is on edge, sharp and bristling and defensive.
“Whatever’s bothering you,” Logan persists, looking straight ahead as the windshield wipers slide across the window.
Virgil opens his mouth, then closes it again, a certain reluctance in their expression.
“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. But the offer stands if you would.”
Virgil considers. “Then I don’t. Want to, that is.” He wraps their arms around himself. “Not now.”
Logan nods. “Can you tell me how to get to your place? Or would you like to spend the night at mine?”
Virgil rattles off directions and the rest of the car ride is spent in silence. It’s not awkward or uncomfortable. It’s pleasant. They don’t need words, not right now. The rain drums against the windows and the tires whir against the wet asphalt and that’s more than enough to fill the quiet.
“Wait!” Logan calls as Virgil opens the door. He quickly grabs a pen and pad of paper from the glove compartment and scribbles down his phone number. “Contact me at some point if you wish, I’d love to talk more.”
Virgil accepts with a brief nod and a faint “Thank you.” Then they disappear.
*
When Logan is twenty-three, he has what you might call a crisis. He and Virgil have steadily grown closer—it started with simply seeing each other in the astronomy class, perhaps texting every now and then, until Logan asked if Virgil wanted to go out for coffee with him. (Virgil ended up having tea instead; they don’t drink coffee, as it turns out.) Soon enough that turned into weekly coffee meetups, which evolved into stargazing at the park, then Virgil spent the night with Logan, and before he could fully process it Virgil had become a critical part of his life.
Logan didn't quite realize things had changed so much until yesterday morning, when he went to do his laundry and found that one of Virgil’s hoodies had made its way into the mix. Now he’s sitting in the kitchen and trying to rationalize through his worries—specifically, the nagging fear that he’s somehow doing this whole “friendship” thing wrong.
Virgil would tell me if something’s upsetting them, he reminds himself.
Unless their anxiety prevents him from speaking up, his brain counters.
Logan groans and lays his head on his arms. Really, the only thing to do is to talk to Virgil about it.
The next time they see each other, Logan brings it up. “Virgil? Am I a bad friend?”
Virgil looks at him incredulously, speaking as though his next words are obvious. “No, not at all. Why?”
Logan studies his shoes, feeling irrationally embarrassed. “I don’t know, I’ve just… I’ve never really done this before.”
“Done what?” Virgil’s tone is steady and patient; his expression is calm as their eyes stare into Logan’s soul.
“Had a friend? I’ve never really needed any before now… I don’t know, I guess I’m just wondering if my… inexperience is… diminishing the quality of our friendship at all.”
Virgil snorts, his bangs flopping in front of his face. “I’m new to this ‘friendship thing’ too, Pocket Protector. Believe it or not, I’ve never been much of a social butterfly.”
Logan chuckles. “Oh, I believe it.”
Virgil elbows him lightly before their expression sobers again. “I don’t think there’s any right or wrong way to be a friend, L. It’s just… whatever works for the people in the relationship. And this, what we have? This works perfectly for me.” Anxiety creeps into his tone, and the slow words speed up frantically. “That is, unless this doesn’t work for you, or if I’m, uh, messing something up or—”
“Virgil.” Their mouth snaps shut. “You aren’t messing anything up. I, too, find our relationship to be… satisfactory.”
Virgil pouts. “Only satisfactory?” he accuses, but they’re both grinning.
Virgil knows Logan too well, though, and after a minute of studying him they say, “That’s not it, is it? What’s on your mind, Lo?”
“Well, we’re romantic soulmates, aren’t we?” he says after a moment, as though confessing something.
“Yeah?”
“But we’re fully platonic. We’ve known each other for at least a year now. Wouldn’t most people like us be dating by now?”
Virgil outright wheezes at that.
“I fail to see what is so funny.”
“This is coming from you, Logan. You, the person who has lectured me more times than I can count—stop apologizing, I enjoyed it—on just how fickle the science and logic of soulmates is? You, the person whose life motto is pretty much… ah, what was it? ‘Soulmates are just people that the universe thinks can change your life.’ Logan, are you of all people worrying about this?”
He knew it was an unfounded fear, but it’s nice to hear it from his soulmate nonetheless. “Well, when you put it that way….”
Virgil’s tone softens. “Logan, look at me. Do you want to be in a romantic relationship?”
Logan considers, then wrinkles his nose.
Virgil laughs, a hearty, wild sound that Logan has come to love almost as much as the person it belongs to. “Yeah, see? Me neither.”
Logan studies the words on his wrist. Virgil places their hand next to his, palm facing up, so the sentences align. They're just little black words, an innocent conversation about constellations. Logan thinks about where it’s led them and smiles to himself.
It’s hard to believe he’s known Virgil for an entire year. It feels like hardly any time has passed since the red letters on his arm turned black and his soulmate entered his life. At the same time, it feels like he’s known Virgil forever. It’s hard to imagine his life without them.
Virgil stares at their wrists contemplatively. “You know,” he says, “Maybe the reason the words change to black after we meet is because the universe is trying to tell us that it’s played its part. We met like it thought we would, and now it’s up to us what we do with it.” They smile crookedly at Logan. “Or maybe I’m just full of bull.”
Logan blinks. “No, that is… astute.”
He thinks about their conversation for a long time afterwards.
*
When Logan is twenty-five, he gets a call from Virgil. They usually prefer to text, or at least ask if it’s a good time before calling, so Logan figures it’s important. He picks up and Virgil is speaking before Logan can even say hi.
“What do you think it’s all for?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
Virgil’s tone is urgent. It makes Logan’s stomach twist.
“What do you think it’s all for? You know, this…. Life. Us. School. Everything we’re doing. What’s it all for?”
Logan takes a minute to process, and then another to try to put his thoughts in order. “I think it depends on what you want it to be for.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, some people find purpose in the belief of a higher power, right? Others find purpose in their soulmates—finding them, building a relationship with them, that sort of thing.” He begins to pace until he ultimately finds himself by the window. The stars are visible, and Logan watches them as he talks. Briefly, he wonders if Virgil is looking at the sky too. “Some people find purpose in their work or in the people they love, or in pursuit of knowledge or self discovery.” Logan thinks of Papa and Dad and smiles, the next words graced with love. “Some people find purpose in helping others, or in adventure. For some people, the point of life is life itself—living every day to its fullest and seeing where it takes them.”
That’s one thing his dads have in common. They both love life because they love living itself. For Dad it’s in the journey, following his path and finding a sliver of adventure in every place it takes him. For Papa it’s in the little moments, the smiles and laughter and terrible jokes (Dad calls them witty, but he’s biased) and all the people he crosses paths with along the way.
“So it’s different for everyone?” Virgil sounds calmer. Logan hopes he’s saying the right thing.
“Well, yes. Everyone’s different, after all. And when it comes to the point of life itself, is there really a right answer? Does it really matter what someone’s purpose in life is as long as it’s enough to make life worthwhile for them?”
Logan isn’t expecting an answer, and Virgil doesn’t give him one. For a long while, the only sound is their breathing on the other end of the line. Then he asks, “What’s it for you? Your purpose in life, I mean?”
Logan considers this. “I don’t think I know yet.”
“Yeah.” There’s a pause. “I guess we can figure it out together.”
It feels like a promise.
*
When Logan is twenty-seven, he and Virgil move in together. Logan first pitched the idea, half expecting Virgil to laugh in his face, but instead he was on board almost immediately. “Yeah, sure,” Logan remembers them saying, “I think it’d be nice to spend the rest of my life with you.”
Sometimes, Logan wonders about who they are in the admittedly narrow scope of society’s norms. From the outside, they look more like partners than friends. Sometimes, Logan almost feels like that’s what they should be. He doesn’t want to date Virgil, but if that’s what people think they are, is that what they’re supposed to be?
Virgil never fails to reassure him. “We’re best friends, Lo,” they remind him. “So what if we don’t look like your typical pair of friends, the kind who’d forget each other in the name of romance? Who wants that anyway? I’d rather have this. I'd rather have you.”
He’s right. He usually is, and Logan is there to set them straight when they aren’t.
Logan also teaches highschool now, like he planned when he was younger. It has its ups and downs, like anything, but for the most part he is quite enamored with his job. He adores getting questions from the kids and watching them grow. He hears their whispers and he gossips with the other staff like any other teacher, so he knows he’s a hit-or-miss teacher. Some kids think he’s too harsh when grading while others just don’t enjoy the subject he teaches or dislike him for different reasons, but many seem to think he’s a good teacher. Julianna O’Brian, the English teacher, once asked him how he managed to become an instant favorite for so many of the students. Matching her joking tone, Logan told her that she’d have to ask them. Then, quietly and much more seriously, he mused, “My best guess is that I remember what it’s like to be in their position. You don’t find adults like that very often.”
And it’s true, Logan does know what it’s like to be in their shoes. He promised himself, back when he was just another teenager struggling to find time to breathe in the chaos of highschool, that he’d never be another adult who forgot just what it felt like to be a kid. He hasn’t broken his promise to himself yet, and he doesn’t plan on it anytime soon.
The best part of his job, without question, is his students. He watches as Priya goes from straight Cs to the B range and feels his heart swell with pride. He sees Aaliyah’s hand shoot up almost every day, her entire form screaming excitement as she silently begs for permission to share her thoughts. He loves when Jackson stays after class to ask him question upon question until he inevitably stumbles across one that Logan doesn’t know the answer to and they learn together. When Alex comes out as nonbinary, he gives xem a hug that Papa would be proud of and is careful to respect xyr pronouns. He watches his students graduate and learn and realizes that they really are teaching him just as much as he hopes they’re learning from him.
It’s true, he discovers, that what goes around comes around. On teacher appreciation day one year, Sheila makes him a card that Logan carefully keeps on his nightstand, where it still resides. Another year, Harper gets him a mug with the words “Space Ace” on it. Logan laughs until he can’t breathe. It’s still his favorite mug (and Virgil likes stealing it, even if they don’t like to admit it).
Speaking of Virgil, Logan’s soulmate works for NASA, and Logan couldn’t be more proud. He especially loves hearing him talk about what they’re working on, when they can. Logan gets permission from the principal for Virgil to come in once a year and give talks to the students about his work. It’s always a highlight of the year for both of them, and the kids seem to enjoy it as well.
Life keeps moving, and so far Logan has loved where it’s led him, for the most part. There have been some lows as well, like when Virgil’s childhood dog died, or when Dad sprained his ankle, or when Papa got pneumonia. As always, there are good days and bad days and even days when the numbness comes back, because adulthood isn’t a magical solution to all the problems in the world and society is eternally flawed, but it isn’t nearly as bad as it was during his teenage years or even in college. Besides, now he has Virgil on the bad days, and Virgil has him when they need him, and that makes everything so much more okay—better than okay, really.
*
When Logan is twenty-nine, his parents finally meet Virgil’s. The two are close enough that Dad says they’re starting to act like an old married couple—or perhaps two newlyweds still in the honeymoon phase, apparently it’s always one or the other with them. Logan retorts that he’s one to talk.
At any rate, this visit is long overdue, but between life and conflicting schedules and periods where he just didn’t talk to his family as much, further enforced by the fact that there’s less societal pressure for friends’ families to meet, their parents somehow haven’t been introduced yet. For winter break, Virgil takes some time off of work and they all make plans to stay at Logan’s parents’ house—they have the most space, so it makes sense. Logan and Virgil arrive first and start setting up in Logan’s childhood bedroom. They’ve just finished putting their suitcases away and are having a snack in the kitchen when the doorbell rings. Papa goes to get it. Logan and Virgil hurry over to see what’s wrong when the door swings open and the cheerful greeting on his lips morphs into a strangled, indecipherable noise.
It’s just Virgil’s dad, but Papa looks like he’s seen a ghost… so does Virgil’s father, for that matter.
“Janus?” Papa whispers.
“Patton,” Virgil’s dad answers, eyes wide and voice uncharacteristically unsteady.
Virgil looks between the two, confusion written on his face. “You know each other?”
Papa laughs in disbelief, blinking dazedly and patting the other man on the shoulder, almost as though making sure he’s real. “Yeah, uh, yeah! Janus is my soulmate.”
Logan blinks, dumbfounded. All he can think to say is, “We really should’ve introduced you guys sooner.”
Papa laughs at that before calling Dad. “Roman, come on! The guest bedroom is fine, you’ve double checked it at least five times, and I want you to meet someone.”
Virgil’s father looks nervous at first, but Dad just smiles, says that it’s nice to meet him, and pulls him into a one-armed hug.
The rest of the night is interspersed with “I can’t believe it’s you”s and “Do you remember when”s and “I didn’t think I’d see you again”s. Papa and Janus act like old friends—because they are, Logan reminds himself. It’s quite strange, but pleasantly so. This will take some adjustment, but Logan notices the way things automatically shifted to accommodate Janus and knows he’s already been accepted as a part of their family.
Later that night, a dramatic wail makes Virgil put down their book so everyone can tease Dad for losing checkers to Janus for the third time in a row. Papa is the only one offering an ounce of sympathy from the kitchen, where he’s drying the dishes, but even he sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. Dad challenges Janus to a rematch and Papa comes to sit in his armchair while Virgil reads aloud, curled on the couch next to Logan, who smiles.
It’s strange and it’s new, but this already feels like home.
*
When Logan is thirty, he feels so unbelievably alive. The previous weekend was quite the opposite—it was cloudy and cool, raining on and off, and Logan felt the chill seep into his veins until he couldn’t feel much of anything. Fortunately, Virgil was there as always, wrapping him in their arms and letting their warmth help him thaw a bit.
Virgil is here today as well, but it is very different, because today Logan is overflowing with life. The stars are shining, dimmed by the city lights but still so beautiful, and energy pulses through Logan. It’s late and there’s a slight chill in the air, and he and Virgil are both in their pajamas already, but that doesn’t stop Logan from forcibly asking his friend to come outside. Virgil watches, a tender smile on their face, as Logan beams, inhaling the evening air and sighing contentedly. He only protests slightly when Logan grabs his arm and exclaims, “Dance with me!”
Logan twists awkwardly and waves his hands as “Fireflies” by Owl City—the first song that came on when Virgil shuffled their playlist—plays in the background. Virgil seems to think he can get away with just standing and watching and tapping their foot slightly, but Logan isn’t having it. He grabs his soulmate’s hand and the two fall into some sort of clumsy dance, giggling like children and exchanging playful jabs.
Spinning aimlessly in the night, Logan feels like he’s fourteen again.
*
When Logan is thirty-two, he looks up at the stars. He’s dragged Virgil on a camping trip for the weekend, just the two of them. The light pollution here is so much better than it is in the city, and the sky is clear, so the two lie on the grass together and admire the starry expanse above. Logan watches as Virgil points out constellations and makes quiet comments, then Virgil does the same for him. Eventually, though, they fall silent.
The ground under their backs is cool, the air is still, and Logan can feel the warmth from where Virgil is lying nearby, their fingers loosely intertwined. Crickets chirp and the wind rustles through the trees as Logan and Virgil gaze up at the universe, spanning infinitely above. Pinpricks of light—stars—dot the dark expanse, and Logan smiles up at them. Out here, alone with Virgil and the stars, Logan feels more at peace than he has in a while.
He glances at his best friend, who glows under the silvery light of the half moon, and Logan’s smile widens. He’s glad to have come this far with him, from two strangers talking about constellations to two friends hand in hand beneath the stars.
Logan looks back up at the stars.
“Thank you,” he whispers to the universe, sinking into the comfort of the earth beneath him and the stars above him and his soulmate beside him.
Virgil doesn’t ask what he said or why he said it. They just squeeze his hand tighter. Logan squeezes back.
I am sorry to all of @heyitssmiller 's server because I am being a huge hypocrite and posting angst (?), when I told the others not to. But this was in my brain and it just needed to get out.
tw: death, family death, guilt, doubting feelings, numbness
Dear Mr. Black,
I am awfully sorry to be the bearer of these news, but your cousin, Narcissa Black, has passed away.
My deepest condolences-
Sirius read the letter he had just received carefully, trying to let the words sink in.
His cousin was dead.
He knew it, but he didnt feel it. He felt like he would any other day, if not a bit numb.
And after that realisation, he started to feel. Guilt and Anger were his main emotions at that moment.
He felt angry at the circumstances under which another person had to die in this world. Angry at him self for not spending more time with her, she had never been as bad as the others. Angry at the person who wrote the letter, for making him feel this way.
And then there was guilt. The main reason for that being, that he didnt feel sad. He had just lost a family member, a close one and yet he didnt feel anything. He remembered the last times he saw her. One time he had actually hugged her and they had a normal conversation about their life and how it developed. The last time he had purposefully tried to remain further away, to only do the necessary things. He had even tried to make the meeting a bit awkward for her, hoping she would change her behaviour and see his point of view. See that maybe she shouldn't marry again. The last time he had seen her he had tried to make her unhappy and that's not even where the guilt came from.
The biggest problem he had at that moment wasnt even close to his numbness or temporarily upcoming guilt, it was the worry about the others.
Andromeda, always his favourite cousin. The person he looked up to, probably broken down to shreds at having lost a sister. Crying with her parents and Bellatrix.
His grandma, although never having been the nicest person, had always treated him like an actual human. She was probably at home, trying to keep her tears at bay, while trying to make her husband understand what happend.
And Draco. Her son. Now without a mother. Sirius had chosen to not be Walburgas son, but your mother being ripped away from your grasp without getting any choice in that matter was a fate he wished on no one.
So all Sirius could do, was contemplating about what to do, how to help the ones that apparently actually cared. He couldnt have cared. Although he had been under the impression that he at least felt some kind of bond to his cousin that definitely wasnt hate, he didnt miss her. He didnt feel anything. Apparently he didnt care.
How do I explain this song to non-hindi speakers oh lord.
Think about being forced to be together and coming to love each other either ways. It's tough you see, because you were supposed to detest them in all possible scenarios. But the way they smile, the way they show care makes you hesitate. You are guarded and so are they. Neither of you wants to reach out yet both of you wanna be close. Yearning from afar— stolen glances, missed chances.
