Archive of Our Own

Wilbur Soot hates his soulmate. 

Or, that’s not true. Hate is too strong of a word.

Maybe… mildly dislikes. Is greatly irked by them. Would pick them last for his dodgeball team in gym class.

Yeah, no, he hates them.

He hates feeling the tingling sensation on his arm that tells him his soulmate is drawing something. He hates watching the ink bloom across his skin. Seeing it swoop and swirl into childish scribbles that cover him from his elbow to his forearm. It’s embarrassing. He shouldn’t be forced to wear a hoodie in sweltering summer heat because his soulmate decided to draw the ugliest looking cow he’s ever had the misfortune of seeing, right on his arm.

He doesn’t want the drawings. He doesn’t want any writing. He doesn’t want his soulmate.

Maybe his hatred is undeserved, but Wilbur can’t help but feel it’s justified.

There was a time when he was ecstatic at the prospect of a soulmate. When he was young and naive he loved the idea of having someone linked to his very soul. Someone who would be there for him through thick and thin, who could comfort him on tough days and he could return the favour.

He didn’t care what type of relationship it ended up being; a lover, a friend, a sibling. He would love them regardless. How could he not? They were his other half.

Like all children, he learned about soulmates in his early childhood. He remembers his teacher opening a picture book filled with colourful illustrations and telling the story of a girl finding her soulmate on the playground. His teacher followed up the story with her own tale of finding her soulmate. She rolled up her sleeves and showed them the loopy handwriting of her best friend, wishing her a good morning.

Wilbur was enamoured.

That very night, he took a marker from the crafts drawer and covered his arm in greetings and doodles. He asked them how they were doing. What did they enjoy? He filled the remaining space with drawings of his favourite things; guitars, the beach, and schools of fish.

All he needed to do was wait for a response.

But a reply never came.

Even after the marker wore off and he would redraw over it. After every bath he would spend the next thirty minutes with a pen in his hand, pleading with them to respond.

His dad tried to help, he really did. He sat a frustrated Wilbur down and did his best to explain the nuances of soulmates. While they shared how they presented (as markings on the skin), each bond was unique. Sometimes one soulmate is younger than the other and there is a waiting period until they are old enough to reply. Sometimes it can take decades to find your soulmate. Sometimes, and Phil tried to break this gently to his son, some people just don’t have a soulmate.

Wilbur heard what his dad was saying, but it went in one ear and out the other. His dad just didn’t understand! His parents had met each other in middle school and got married after college. And they had been writing to each other even before that! It only made his frustration grow.

He didn’t want to wait years to meet his soulmate, and he certainly didn’t want a baby for a soulmate. Babies couldn’t play with him. Babies were loud and annoying. They cried and needed constant attention and were gross.

But the thought of not having one at all made a pit form in his stomach. He avoided thinking about that possibility at all. It wasn't a reality he would accept.

As the years went by, Wilbur’s resolve in contacting his soulmate petered away. He knew they existed, but they never made the same effort that he did.

When he was ten he started noticing the marks of scrapes and bruises he didn’t remember getting. He had felt a flare of excitement and tried writing to them immediately.

But once again, no reply. Not even an acknowledgement.

His liking for them continued to dwindle until there was nothing left of the gleeful questions he once bombarded them with, only passing remarks, and eventually, passive aggressive reminders of his existence.

And soon enough, his breaking point.

He remembers that day clearly. Seventeen and fresh off a failed math test. It had been a rough one, the numbers and letters swimming before his eyes. Maybe pulling an all nighter to cram was a stupid idea. As soon as it had been set in front of him his mind drew blank after blank. All that studying went down the drain. He handed it in with half of the questions left unanswered.

Look, it wasn’t his fault that math simply wasn’t his forte.

And as though life was kicking him while he was down, Wilbur had been given the heads up by one of his friends that Sally was planning on ending things with him. It apparently wasn’t working out.

He let out a low groan and buried his face in his palms, fighting back tears. He had rushed home after school and was the only one in the house. The silence was welcome compared to the chatter of other students. The aggravating ambience of a school hallway wasn’t a great thing to listen to while on the verge of a breakdown.

Techno had fencing practice and his parents wouldn’t be home from work for a little while, so he had approximately forty-five minutes to justify his failure to his parents.

That’s when he felt it for the first time; the light tickling sensation that let you know your soulmate was writing.

Quick as a bullet, he rolled up his sleeves.

‘HELLO!’ Stared back at him. 

He doesn’t remember how long he stared at the message, a thousand emotions coursing through him.

Realistically, he should have been elated, relieved, even. After years of silence and unreciprocated messages he finally got a response.

But ultimately, he could only feel angry.

He’d waited years, years , for a response from his soulmate and now they decided to respond? When he was at his lowest and they were the last fucking person he wanted to talk to? What a joke. He didn’t have time for this. There were far more pressing matters at hand than the appearance of an absent soulmate.

He opted to ignore them for the time being. Give them a taste of their own medicine. He rolled his sleeve back down and went back to his wallowing.

His parents know that he tried his best. He wasn’t exactly subtle about his dislike and struggles with the subject and truly, one test wasn’t going to make or break him. It wasn’t a final and his teacher was usually cool about retakes.

He took a few deep breaths. It’s fine. He’s fine . This won’t even matter in a couple years.

As for Sally, well, he’d seen this coming for a while. They were both busy with school and their extra curriculars. They also ran in different friend groups and had their own approaches to education. Sally wanted to succeed in every aspect and attend the school of her dreams. Wilbur simply wanted to graduate high school and maybe pursue a career in music.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, trying to reach some sort of peace with the situation.

That sliver of peace was shattered when his arm began to tickle again.

‘Hello? You there? Hello? Hello? Answer pleeeeeeease!’ Small scribbled flowers accompanied the words.

Wilbur felt his anger and frustration reach their boiling point. If life had kicked him before then now it was stealing his lunch money for good measure. He shoved himself back from the table and snatched a pen from a penholder on the counter. He sat back down with a huff and brought the pen to his skin.

‘What?’

The response formed before his eyes.

‘Hi! I’m *****!’ 

Clearly his soulmate didn’t understand that you can’t just write down personal information to your soulmate. That’s too easy so the universe conjured some deep mystic bullshit to prevent soulmates from finding each other until the time was right. Some garbage about fate .

It’s got a sense of humour and humanity is the punchline.

‘And I’m busy. What do you want?”

“I wanna talk to you!’

‘Oh, really? How kind of you to finally decide to respond to me. Only took you eleven years.”  The bitterness wasn’t leaking out, it was spewing like a goddamn fire hose.

‘Hey! I wanted to-“

Wilbur didn’t let them write anymore, already done with this conversation. ‘But you didn’t and I have other things to do. Bye.’

‘Fuck you! I wanna talk to you and you’re being a dick!”

His anger boiled over.

‘Don’t fucking talk to me.’

Wilbur capped the pen.

***

Wilbur’s arm didn’t stop tingling for the next couple days, his soulmate writing and drawing like a madman. His arms were covered from shoulder to wrist with a variety of colours. Wilbur didn’t acknowledge a single one of them. He kept his sleeves pulled firmly down and went about his test retake pretending his arm wasn’t being bombarded with frowny faces drawn in highlighter.

He felt a twisted sort of satisfaction in ignoring them, letting them know how it felt to go unanswered. To only see your own desperate handwriting across your arm. The tables were finally turned in his favour.

Every so often, he would catch a glimpse of what was being written to him. Very eloquent phrases such as ‘ HEY BITCH’ and ‘what the fuck!’ and ‘that’s not fair’ were scrawled all across his skin. He made sure to wear a hoodie with extra long sleeves that day.

It was the fourth day of ignoring his soulmate when Wilbur felt a tingle on his palm. Up until that point, the writing had been exclusive to his arms.

He was scrolling through his phone when he noticed the black letters appear on his palm.

‘ Sorry’

Wilbur considered it for a moment, then reached across his desk and snatched a marker from the holder.

He crossed a thick black line through the letters.

Apology not accepted.

***

There’s a tall blond teenager in the kitchen. He’s hunched over and clutching his bag like someone is going to snatch it away from him any second. His eyes survey the room, not seeing Wilbur where he’s sat on the stairs, and he’s shifting from foot to foot.

Less than a month ago, his parents had sat him and Techno down and explained that they were looking to foster again. The news came as a bit of a surprise to Wilbur. The last time his parents had sat him down for this talk it had led to Techno joining their home and soon enough, becoming his brother.

Phil had given Wilbur and Techno the basic rundown a few hours before the kid was set to arrive.

He is fifteen and entered the foster system when he was ten. The majority of his homes have been shit, to say the very least. He’s jumpy and has run away from one home before. It apparently took them hours to find him.

A hand lands on his shoulder and he nearly jumps out of his skin. Techno is standing behind him.

“You gonna keep watching in the shadows like a creep, or are you going to go introduce yourself?”

Wilbur rolls his eyes at him. “Mom and dad said to wait until they call us down so he isn’t overwhelmed at the door.”

“And you think staring from a distance is any better?”

“I’m just curious!”

“The kid can probably feel you staring at him, I know I could when I got here. You aren’t very subtle,” Techno deadpans at him.

Wilbur opens his mouth to snark back but that’s when their mom calls.

“Wilbur, Techno, come meet Tommy!”

Both men make their way down to the kitchen where their parents are standing with the kid and his social worker.

Now up close, Wilbur can see that the kid looks exhausted. There’s deep bags under his eyes and he’s swaying a little in place. Despite his tired look, he’s alert the second they walk in the room, clearly wary.

Phil turns to Tommy. “Tommy, these are our sons, Wilbur and Techno.” He gestures to each of them respectively. “Boys, this is Tommy.”

Techno nods in acknowledgment, keeping his body relaxed. Wilbur gives the boy a smile, hoping to ease some of the tension in his shoulders. It minorly works and his shoulders slump. He offers them a tentative wave of his own.

“Why don’t you show Tommy his room while we wrap up here?” Kristin suggests, her smile never leaving her face.

“Alright.” Wilbur motions for the kid to follow him and Techno up the stairs. Techno takes the lead while Wilbur falls in step with Tommy.

“So, Tommy,” Wilbur begins. “What do you like to do?”

Tommy quickly glances at him before his eyes fall on the floor again. He shrugs his shoulders as a response.

“Come on,” Wilbur prods. “What are your hobbies?”

“Um, I like to draw,” Tommy says. His voice is raspy, like he’s swallowed a stack of sandpaper. It’s the first he’s heard Tommy talk and it could very well be the first time he’s spoken in a while, with exhaustion being evident in his tone.

Wilbur smiles at him like he’s just confessed to being Mother Teresa in his spare time. “That’s great. What kind of drawings?”
“Mainly doodles,” Tommy mumbles. “Scribbles, that sort of thing.”

Wilbur frowns a little at how utterly tired Tommy looks. Poor kid looks like he’s about to collapse at any moment. He goes to ask another question but they’ve reached the room where Tommy will be staying while he’s here.

“This will be your room.” Techno opens the door to reveal the space.

It’s plain, meant to be a blank canvas for Tommy to decorate to his liking. The walls are the same grey colour as the rest of the house. The bed has basic white covers and there’s a desk tucked into the corner. A small spider plant trimming sits on the windowsill, one cut from his mothers plant.

“I know it looks boring now, but Phil and Kristin are thinking of taking you shopping this weekend to find some things to fill the space,” Techno says as Tommy slowly walks into the room, surveying every corner.

“What are the rules?” He looks back at them.

“Rules? Um,” Wilbur looks at Techno who shrugs. “Don’t be an asshole and have common sense, I guess. You know, knock before entering someone’s room, don’t take someone else’s things without asking, the fridge is a general free for all so long as someone’s name isn’t on it.” Wilbur lists off and Tommy nods at each of them.

“That’s it?”

“I mean, mom and dad will probably talk to you later and give you the general rundown, but that’s the gist of it.”

Tommy squints at them and Wilbur can practically see the gears turning in his sleep deprived brain, trying to pick out insincerity in anything they’ve said.

“Well, feel free to get settled,” Wilbur says. “Dinner should be in a couple hours.” He and Techno turn to leave the room, closing the door behind them. 

The last thing Wilbur sees before it shuts is Tommy face planting onto the bed.

***

Suddenly having another person around takes some getting used too. There’s a fifth chair at the table and a pair of ratty sneakers at the door. The room beside Wilbur’s is occupied yet always locked.

Tommy himself takes some getting used too as well. 

The kid is quiet and he’s accidentally jump scared Wilbur on at least seven separate occasions since he’s arrived. He exists like a ghost. Wilbur will leave his room and nearly topple him over because he didn’t notice him standing there. Each of his steps seem careful and thought out, light as a feather.

Tommy doesn’t speak all that often either. He responds to any questions asked to him but beyond that his lips are sealed.

Wilbur’s not a fan of quiet.

He’s a musician at heart. Something always needs to be playing, whether it's him strumming his guitar or playing a record on his player that he got for a steal of a deal at a local thrift store. Quiet is suffocating, restricting. Music is freedom.

Silence reminds him of the libraries at university. A constant tension permeated the air and the entire place felt as though it was on the verge of tears. Stressed students sat at long tables, desperately studying for their exams, headphones on and laser focused on their laptops. The clicking of keyboards and the occasional cough served as the ambience to an all around miserable area.

He hated it with a burning passion. Those years felt like the worst of his life. He was hounded with schoolwork, the paper in his desk laying covered in highlighter and annotations. It felt like a waste of a tree.

Thankfully, after a breakdown on a phone call, his parents supported his idea of dropping out and taking a year or two off. He wouldn’t get anywhere if he was stressed all the time. Their only conditions were that he gets a job, which he did, and keeps them in the loop of his future plans. Easy enough.

Music and noise keeps Wilbur sane, and Tommy is the direct opposite of that.

Tommy’s got a shell built around himself. 

Wilbur wonders how long it will take before he gets him to come out.

He takes it as almost a personal challenge, getting Tommy to open up. He doesn’t expect him to start spilling his life’s story, just comfortable enough to talk to him without looking like he’s said something wrong and is about to implode.

He starts small. Compliments, greetings, and good mornings. Anything to let Tommy know that he means no ill will. If he’s running to the store, he’ll ask if Tommy wants something. He usually says no but the sentiment is there.

In turn, Tommy does start to respond more. He cracks small smiles at the dinner table when someone makes a joke. He’ll ask for something if he needs it and is a bit more willing to engage in conversations with the family.

But his biggest breakthrough comes on a simple Tuesday. 

“What are you doing?” Wilbur asks, walking into the kitchen. It’s mid afternoon and Tommy is sitting at the table. The kid nearly jumps out of his skin when Wilbur speaks, slamming the book he was drawing in closed. He quickly composes himself.

“Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was home.”

“No worries, I just got back.” Wilbur tosses his keys onto the counter and opens the designated snack cupboard, pulling out a granola bar. “Want one?”

“I’m good, uh, I’m just drawing.”

“Oh yeah?” Wilbur remembers Tommy mentioning his liking for art. In the following days, he noticed that Tommy carried a book everywhere with him, a basic sketchbook that you can find at any dollar store. “Can I see?”

Wilbur immediately grimaces, wondering if he’s overstepped. Tommy’s eyes have gone wide, like he can’t fathom the thought of someone seeing his work. Wilbur goes to apologise, but Tommy speaks up. 

“Sure.”

Pleasantly surprised, Wilbur sits next to Tommy at the table. His sketchbook is covered in stickers, everything from holographic smiles that teachers give out to a giant Minecraft creeper head. There’s daisies and other flowers of all types and art styles. A group of sheep lives in the corner and a cluster of gold stars makes up the spine.

It's so completely Tommy .

Tommy picks up the book and leafs through the pages, trying to find a good picture to show Wilbur. Eventually he finds one and sets the book back down.

It’s a simple landscape, but it’s been personalised to hell and back. It looks almost like a dream. The clouds are thick and fluffy and take the shape of dancers in the colourful sky. The grass looks as though wind is rippling through it, poppies dotted through the sea of green. There’s a village on the horizon and a forest stretching up a distant mountain. Wilbur can almost imagine he’s there.

“Holy shit,” Wilbur says, amazement clear in his voice. “This is awesome!”

Tommy’s cheeks turn pink, not expecting the praise. “It’s nothing much-”

“Are you kidding me? This is amazing!” And Wilbur means it. He’s not much of an artist himself, not in that sense, but he greatly appreciates art of any kind. “You’re fucking talented, man.”

“It’s just pencils on paper.” Tommy shrugs. “Nothing special.”

“I disagree, this is beautiful.”

A small smile crosses Tommy’s face. “Thanks.”

Wilbur grins back. “You got anything else.”

Tommy flips a few more pages and lands on a semi realistic drawing of a cow sticking its tongue out.

“I found the image online and wanted to see if I could replicate it,” Tommy explains. “For practice, and all that.”

“Well, I’d say you succeeded,” Wilbur says. “The shading is amazing.”

Tommy smiles again and turns the page, unprompted this time, to the next drawing.

They sit there for the next half hour, Tommy explaining the method and inspiration behind his pieces and Wilbur giving out endless compliments.

It feels good. It feels like progress.

It’s definitely a turning point. It’s a little like a switch flicked in Tommy, like Wilbur showing even a little interest in his art has brought out a whole new side of him.

His smiles have slowly turned into laughs and even jokes of his own. He talks about his day to anyone who will listen. Wilbur knows that his parents are ecstatic about the change. Tommy is just so easy to love once he lets you in. He’s heard Phil starts conversations with Tommy about his favourite artists and a few of Tommy’s own pieces have ended up on the fridge. Wilbur has caught the boy staring at them when he thinks no one is watching, a shine to his eyes. Kristin ropes Tommy into running errands with her and he always comes home with a smile on his face and a new small trinket in hand that Kristin insisted that she buy for him.

Even Techno’s warmed up to Tommy, going as far as giving him the nickname of ‘Theseus’ when he witnessed him tumble off a cement barrier he was attempting to balance on. That outing had been a fun one, Wilbur remembers. He and Techno were going to a local diner and Wilbur had thrown out an invitation to Tommy, asking if he wanted to join them.

He did.

The three spent the afternoon in a cramped booth, talking over milkshakes about whatever they could think about. Wilbur ranted about his future vision of a band he wanted to start. Tommy argued about the logistics of having an army of moths to do his bidding. Techno simply argued that an army of hounds would be far more effective which prompted Tommy to throw a fry at him.

As for Wilbur, he feels like he and Tommy just click. Wilbur didn’t even realise how bleak his life was becoming until Tommy walked into it, coloured pencils in hand, and scribbled over the dull canvas with an array of different hues. He didn’t think about how many hours he spent in his room until Tommy came knocking, wanting his opinion on a new drawing or to rant about one of his teachers.

“It’s fucking stupid ,” Tommy vents while Wilbur fiddles with his guitar strings. “I followed the outline sheet she gave us perfectly! But noooooo, I overuse my commas and that warrants taking half a mark off whenever she sees one she doesn’t like apparently!” 

Tommy is laid across Wilbur's bed like a starfish, having burst in and flopped down once Wilbur had given the go ahead. 

“There’s no pleasing Mrs Smith,” Wilbur replies, flinching at the god awful sound of one of the strings. He turns the peg accordingly.

“No there fucking isn’t!” Tommy exclaims, throwing an arm over his face. “I’m gonna drop out. Run off to the woods and live my best life as a patch of moss.”

“Or a raccoon. I could see you stealing from someone’s garbage.”

“Hey! I only did that once, thank you very much.”

Wilbur pauses. “You stole from someone’s trash?”

“NO,” but Tommy knows he’s backed himself into a corner. “I was borrowing it for a project. They had glass bottles and I needed materials for a mosaic. It was for a good cause.”

“Ok, so raccoon confirmed.”

Tommy continues to protest his new designation as a raccoon, but Wilbur ignores him and starts strumming. He’s had a few songs in the works for a while, but he can’t find the last dig of inspiration he needs to complete them. He hums along with the guitar, in lieu of lyrics. 

He finishes the song and notices that Tommy’s gone quiet for the whole thing, intent on listening.

“What do you think of it?” Wilbur asks, a slight bit of nervousness nudging at the back of his mind. He usually keeps his music between himself and the YouTube videos he posts of them, not often asking for criticism from his family or friends.

Tommy thinks for a moment. “It’s sad.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Do you have any lyrics to go with it?”

“No, not yet,” Wilbur chuckles but there’s no humour in it. “My well of inspiration has gone dry, unfortunately.”

Tommy hums and his face minutely scrunches as he thinks. “Have you thought of writing something happy?”
“Something happy?”

“Or I don’t know! Out of your comfort zone. More upbeat, that sort of thing. Doesn’t have to be all deep and serious, just something different.”

Wilbur looks down at the guitar in his hand. He plucks a few major chords in a staccato fashion.

Maybe a tone shift would be a good idea. He smiles up at Tommy, who’s fully sat up on the bed. “I’ll try that.” He reaches up and ruffles Tommy’s hair, who jumps back with an indignation squawk. “Thanks.”

It’s great having Tommy around. Wilbur almost wonders how the family was complete without him. He tiptoed into their lives and made himself at home . He’s heard his parents whispering between themselves, wondering if they should make this arrangement permanent. It’s just talk for now, but Wilbur knows what his answer will be when they inevitably ask him and Techno what their opinions on having Tommy as a little brother would be. Hell, he’s ten seconds from forcing the papers and a pen into their hands at this very moment.

Tommy’s akin to sunshine, Wilbur thinks. With a smile that lights up a room and blond hair that gives angelic halos a run for their money. The boy is good at lightening the mood of a room, cracking jokes and easing tension like it’s second nature. Second nature just to shine.

So whenever there is something that dulls that flame, Wilbur takes notice.

Wilbur has the day off work so he’s decided to pick Tommy up from school and take him to a local pumpkin patch. Fall is here and Wilbur wants to make the most of it. He thinks that Tommy will enjoy it, the weather is nice and the leaves are an array of red, orange, and yellows.

But when Tommy gets in the car, something seems to be weighing on him. He tosses his bag to his feet and hunches his shoulders, mumbling a hello to Wilbur.

Wilbur frowns, concern bubbling in him. “Hey, gremlin. How was school?”

Tommy just offers him a shrug. “Fine, I guess.”

“You guess? So something happened, I take it?”

“Yeah I-” Tommy takes a deep breath while Wilbur pulls out of the parking spot. “Tubbo found his soulmate.”

That almost makes Wilbur jerk the car to a stop. But he doesn’t for the sake of road safety.

Tubbo, Wilbur knows, is Tommy’s long time best friend, having met before Tommy was even in the system.

“Well,” Wilbur isn’t exactly sure how to carry this conversation. “That’s a good thing… isn't it?”

“It is, I just-” Tommy slumps into his seat, a frustrated groan leaving him. “I knew we weren’t soulmates since we met but, I don’t know, it still sucks. I’m happy for him! Don’t get me wrong, I just… don’t want to be replaced.”

Oh so that’s the issue. 

‘Tommy, Tubbo isn’t going to replace you with his soulmate. You guys are best friends. That’s not something a soulmate can take away from you.”

“If you say so.”

It’s quiet for a second before Wilbur speaks again. “Look, I’m probably not the best person to talk about this with. I’m sure if you bring it up to mom or dad they’d be happy to help you.”

Tommy nods. “Ok.” He’s silent for a moment. “What do you think of soulmates?”

He asks it tentatively but Wilbur tenses all the same. “Oh, I haven’t met mine.” He tries to say it casually but he can almost feel the phantom tingles of someone drawing on his arm. Can almost imagine the smell of a marker as he uses it to cross out another drawing. “And I’m not entirely sure I want to.”

He hasn’t had a proper conversation with his soulmate in years. They did exactly as he told them, to stop talking to him. He isn’t sure how to feel about it. On some nights he feels the pierce of loneliness when he thinks about his friends and their connections. The deep ache of a missing piece. But he can never seem to bring himself to write back, always feeling that same surge of contempt any time he tries. His soulmate never stopped marking up their arms, though. They still doodle, using their skin as a canvas for their chicken scratch. 

It annoys Wilbur to no end some days. His closet has expanded to include more sweaters and long sleeves just to cover them up. He hates it, and he makes that abundantly clear.

“I get that,” Tommy says, then murmurs so quietly that Wilbur almost doesn’t catch it. “I don’t think I want to meet mine either.”

That’s one thing we share then . Wilbur glances over at Tommy who’s gone to staring at the passing cars out the window.

He changes the subject. “What do you think about pumpkin patches?”

“They’re cool,” Tommy replies.

“Well, I was thinking we could go to one. Right now. They have pumpkins, carving competitions, a corn maze, a petting zoo-” That makes Tommy whip his head around.

“You had me at petting zoo.”

Wilbur laughs and signals for the turn off.

***

His arm fucking itches. The morning sun streams in through his window, illuminating his room in a golden glow as Wilbur digs through his closet for something clean to wear. 

That’s number one for the to-do list today; laundry .

He absentmindedly scratches at his upper arm while he pulls an old university hoodie off the hanger, trying to lessen the feeling. It doesn’t work. He pulls it on and rolls up the sleeve to reveal a field of doodled flowers blooming down to his elbow.

He scowls at it, frustrated. It’s supposed to be the last warm day they’ll have for a while and he has to spend it overheating in a hoodie he hasn’t worn in years.

Fucking great.

Wilbur grabs a marker from his desk, one that has gained itself a permanent place over the years. He makes his frustration known through crude black lines, scribbling out and crossing over the field of messy daisies, roses, and iris’. It’s like rot taking over a garden. A child scribbling outside of the lines, making a mess of a picture. As each new drawing appears, he chases after it, ruining it before it’s even complete.

The flowers soon stop appearing and Wilbur recaps the marker, satisfied.

Downstairs, the family (minus Tommy) is bustling about the kitchen. Techno is asleep at the table, arms crossed and head down, his mug of coffee cold. Kristin is watering the small herb garden on the window sill, tending to each little plant with utmost care and making sure the light can reach them. Phil has a bagel in his mouth as he tries to get his shoes on, nearly tumbling into Wilbur in his rush to get to work on time.

Wilbur slides into the chair next to Techno, staying out of his dad’s way as he grabs his wallet and keys and kisses Kristin on the cheek before rushing out the door.

Wilbur watches him go, “What’s that about?”

“He got called in last minute for something important,” His mom hums, emptying the remaining water in the watering can down the drain. “He’ll probably be working late tonight.”

Wilbur nods at the explanation and turns to Techno, who’s snoring softly. He takes the full mug and puts it in the microwave to warm it up. No sense in wasting perfectly good coffee. Techno can stay tired, it’s his now. You snooze, you lose.

“Where’s Tommy?” Wilbur takes a sip of lukewarm coffee and scrunches his face in disgust. Dear god, Techno needs to learn what sugar is. “Isn’t he usually up by now?”

Kristin looks at the stove's clock and frowns at the time. He has school soon. “Yes he is. Why don’t you go check on him?”

Wilbur nods and is about to get up when, speak of the devil, Tommy comes down the stairs, looking like an absolute wreck. 

His hair is messy and his clothes look hastily thrown on, no effort given. There’s a very noticeable slump to his shoulders and his eyes are rimmed with red, like he’d been crying.

“Good morning, Tommy,” Kristin says, her smile turning into a frown at his state. She opens one of her arms and Tommy leans in for a side hug, mumbling a good morning under his breath. 

“What wrong, dear?” She asks.

Tommy sighs and slumps into the other chair beside Techno. “Nothing, just tired.”

“Are you sure? You look like someone ran over your dog,” Wilbur says, concern lacing his tone. 

“Pulled an all nighter and I have a test today. That’s it.” Tommy insists, strangely firm. Wilbur exchanges a look with his mom. There’s definitely more but pushing Tommy to speak is never a good idea. He knows he can come to them about anything.

“Alright, well, there’s bagels for breakfast, would you like me to put one in for you?” Kristin offers and Tommy nods.

“Yes please.”

Tommy remains quiet as the bagel toasts, not giving much to Wilbur’s attempts at conversation, looking lost in thought. Techno continues to sleep, being no help whatsoever.

“Ok, Tommy, you can eat in the car. We need to go now or you’re going to be late,” Kristin says, putting his bagel on a plate and grabbing her keys. Tommy wordlessly follows, picking up his bag and breakfast and following her out the door.

The door slams behind them and that’s what finally jerks Techno awake. He groans at the light and rubs his eyes. His pink hair is in a messy braid and little bits poke out of it in random directions.

“What’s got you so tired?” Wilbur asks, taking another sip of bitter coffee.

Techno squints at him. “I was drinking that.”

“You weren’t when I got down here.”

“Bruh,” Techno yawns and stretches. “And to answer your question, I was up all night. I’m almost done with my book and I’ve only got two chapters left to write.”

“Tommy was up all night too,” Wilbur tells him. “He looked like a mess. Somehow, I doubt it’s because of a test.”

Tommy does have a test today, Wilbur knows that for sure, but the boy had been so confident about it, telling him how it was going to be a breeze. What made him pull a full one eighty and stay up all night?

Techno raises an eyebrow at that. “He didn’t tell you what’s wrong?”

Wilbur shakes his head. “He barely spoke this morning.” He frowns. “Something more is going on.”

“Kristin took him to school?” Wilbur nods. “Well, she’ll probably try to get it out of him during the ride. You know how she’s good at that.” Techno stands to make himself a new cup of coffee.

“Yeah I know,” But Wilbur is unsure. He wants to shake the answer out of Tommy. Make him tell him what’s wrong so he can make it better. So he can bring back his smile. But he can't do that.

Wilbur stands. “Well, I have shit to do today.”

Techno turns around, his eyes landing on the empty mug on the table. “At least put your cup in the sink. I’m not a maid.”

“Nope,” Wilbur shakes his head, a grin spreading across his face. “It’s what you get for drinking your coffee black.” He dodges a dish towel Techno throws at him. “Hey, I have this friend, Her name is Sugar and Cream. Would you like me to introduce you two?”

Wilbur dashes up the stairs, laughing loudly as he sees Techno pick up the dirty mug, arm pulled back like an MLB player.

The remainder of the day passes easily. Wilbur does his laundry while Techno retreats back to his room, probably to sleep in bed instead of at the table. He busies himself with finishing the song Tommy suggested he write, something a bit more light hearted. It’s nearly finished and he can’t wait to play it for him.

When Kristin returns from dropping Tommy at school, her face is serious. Apparently Tommy had completely clammed up when she tried to figure out what was wrong, nearly tumbling out of the car when they arrived.

It all rubs Wilbur the wrong way and there’s a lingering buzz of anxiety that accompanies it. What happened? Is it something at school that’s making Tommy shut down? Is it something they did? He presses his lips together, unsure and uneasy.

It doesn’t get any easier when Tommy gets home.

Wilbur is in his room, making notes and tweaks to his lyrics, when he hears someone stomp up the stairs and nearly slam the door to their room.

Tommy.

He gets to his feet and rushes into the hallway.

“Tommy?” He lightly knocks on the door and gets no response. He thinks he can hear muffled sobs coming from inside. “Are you ok?” No response.

Wilbur bites his lip, worried. “Can I come in?” 

There’s no reply for nearly a minute, but eventually, “Sure.”

Wilbur opens the door. The room is dark and the curtains are drawn shut, keeping out the afternoon light. Tommy is curled up under a pile of blankets, facing away from the door. Hiccupping sobs escaping him.

Wilbur immediately goes over to the bed. “Hey, Tommy, sunshine, what’s the matter?” His voice is soft, if not a little frantic. He hates seeing Tommy like this.

He places a hand on Tommy’s arm and gently rubs it up and down, desperate to provide some sort of comfort to the crying boy. It only seems to make him cry harder.

“It’s ok, Tommy, it’s ok,” fuck, Wilbur isn’t quite sure what to do. “Do you want me to leave?”

Almost frantically, Tommy shakes his head. He doesn’t want to be alone.

Wilbur sits on the bed and leans against the headboard. It’s a bit of a squeeze, but he makes it work. Tommy remains curled up, his back pressed against Wilbur’s outstretched legs. “Ok. I won’t go anywhere.”

While he waits for Tommy to calm down, he observes the room. So much life has been brought to it since Tommy moved in. The walls are no longer bare, now covered in movie posters and pictures of his art. The desk is littered with markers, pencils, and stacks of paper. String lights are hung up around the window and headboard, something that Techno had helped Tommy set up, and the spider plant on the window sill has flourished in the months that Tommy has been with them.

Wilbur finds the switch to turn on the lights on the headboard and flick them on, providing a dim ambient glow to the room as Tommy’s cries die down to sniffles.

He hears Tommy take a shuddering breath. “I fought with Tubbo today.”

Wilbur looks down at him but he’s still turned away. The admission comes as a bit of a surprise to him. Tubbo and Tommy have always been thick as thieves, that’s been obvious to him since he first saw them interact. What kind of argument did they have that would bring Tommy to tears?

“Why? What happened?” Wilbur asks gently.

“I told him that if he doesn’t want to be friends anymore, he should say it to my face. He called me a fucking moron and I got mad so we argued.” Tommy mumbles.

“Why did you tell him that in the first place? You two are best friends.”

“Because he always wants to be around his soulmate!” Tommy explodes, startling Wilbur and suddenly sitting up. He looks terrible, even worse than this morning. His face and eyes are red and tears are dried on his cheeks. It looks like fresh ones are about to start falling. “ Sorry Tommy, I’m hanging out with Ranboo after school ,” He mimics. “ Sorry, I’m studying with Ranboo . It's all he fucking talks about anymore! I told him this and he called me fucking jealous .” Tommy says it with a sneer but there is an obvious wobble to it.

Wilbur opens his mouth to say something, anything to reassure him, but Tommy’s on a tangent.

“I’m sick of hearing about it! How he’s sooo lucky that he found his soulmate. That his soulmate is so understanding!” Tommy sounds frantic and on the verge of shattering. “ My soulmate this, my soulmate that!” A harsh sob suddenly bursts from him. “My soulmate doesn’t even like me!”

With that, he collapses onto Wilbur, desperately searching for the comfort Wilbur is so willing to give. He pulls Tommy close, letting him hide his face in his shoulder as he wails. He rubs comforting circles into his back and tries to whisper reassuring words.

“M-m-my soulmate hates me!” Tommy hiccups. 

“Oh, Tommy, you’re wonderful,” Wilbur says, devastation tearing into his heart at Tommy’s cries. “They just haven’t had the chance to see that yet.”

“They don’t want me,” Tommy hysterically insists. “They told me themself! They hate me!”

“No, Tommy, that can’t be true-”

“Yes it is!” and Tommy reaches over to his left sleeve and pulls it up to his shoulder. In the dim light, Wilbur makes out a mess of hasty black lines drawn straight through a field of flowers, a masterpiece destroyed. An ugly mark made with the intention to ruin .

Wilbur is going to be sick. 

“They do that every time,” Tommy continues, chest heaving. “Anything I write or draw they scribble over. They told me not to talk to them anymore.” His breathing stutters. “I just wanted them to care.” He falls back into Wilbur, who’s only aware enough to wrap his arms around him as shock and utter guilt roar through him.

“They used to care,” Tommy confesses into his shoulder and Wilbur almost doesn’t hear. “When I was born, my mom said I already had writing on me. When I was a baby, there was a new message or drawing every day. They talked to me a lot,” He sniffs. “But I couldn’t reply. I was too little and my parents weren’t a fan of soulmates so they never let me once I was old enough. They called it bullshit . They didn’t like the idea of fated people so they would check my arms to make sure I hadn’t written anything.” 

Tommy’s tears don’t let up as more hiccups leave him. “I-I just wanted someone to love me. I secretly tried writing to them once but I ruined it. I made them hate me. M-my parents were mad when they found out. They said I deserved it, that my soulmate was right to cut me off. I don’t even know what I did wrong. ” And Tommy shatters.

Wilbur tries to hold the pieces together as he similarly breaks. Devastated doesn’t even begin to describe what he feels. It’s a torrential downpour of guilt and shame. He’s disgusted with himself. He did this. This is all his fault.

He had been told years ago that soulmates weren’t always the same age. Tommy is eight years younger than him. No fucking shit he wasn’t writing him back, he hadn’t even been fucking born yet!

Phil had told him, his dad warned him that this was a possibility, but in all his stubbornness Wilbur refused to listen to logic. Now his soulmate is crying in his arms because he was an angry teen who didn’t think through the consequences of his actions.

Tears drip down his face but he doesn’t deserve to cry. He loves this kid so much and yet he’s the one who hurt him the most.

He should have been there, even just in the background, providing Tommy support. Just being someone he could come to when things got hard.

Instead he burned a bridge before it was even built and Tommy got caught in the flames.

The sick feeling surges once again as Wilbur remembers every time he found that godforsaken marker in his hand, crossing out Tommy’s artwork. The markings on his arm seem to burn with regret. He wants to throw it all away, never pick up another pen ever again.

More tears fall as Wilbur continues to reflect on everything he’s managed to fuck up. He remembers the ugly half of the soul bond. It’s not just pen marks that appear, but injuries too. It sends another wave of horror and shame through him.

Wilbur always thought his soulmate was clumsy. It was another thing to mock and be angry at. Every new bruise was just a reminder that he was tethered to a supposed klutz.

But Tommy’s a foster kid. He’s told him bits and pieces of the abuse he faced before coming to them. How it got so bad he decided running away was a better option than staying.

Wilbur squeezes Tommy tighter, as if his arms are enough to keep out the cruelty of the world. He wants to break down into apologies, beg for Tommy’s forgiveness. But the words are lodged in his throat.

All he can think to do is hold Tommy and let him cry.

***

Tommy would be lying if he said didn’t notice a change in Wilbur after that. 

He knows that Wilbur isn’t a big fan of the topic of soulmates, always dancing around the subject. He dodges the question or walks out of the room entirely.

At first, in a way, it made him think of his parents.

They hated soulmates, claiming that true love didn’t come from the universe, it was built between the individuals. They had both rejected their soulmates and married each other. They claimed their matrimony was a middle finger to the universe. That they had achieved love without its assistance.

And how true that love was, with screaming matches every other night. How true that love was as they neglected their son.

Tommy believes that you can find love beyond the person you’re connected to, but his parents were not the standard, they weren’t even a good fucking example.

Soulmate bonds are diverse. They are what you make it. Sure, some find romance with that person, but others find a friend, a sibling, or family. Sometimes they find a stranger, and that’s ok too.

But Wilbur is not his parents, not even close. He holds him when he asks, no matter if his day was good or bad. He shows his affection and care constantly through hair ruffles and offers of his time. Tommy can ask him anything without fear of retaliation. He indulged Tommy’s questions about soulmates without complaint and offered reassurance. He didn’t try to tell him he was stupid for being upset over it.

Everyone in the Soot family is better than he could have imagined. He was terrified coming to this house. His history in the system is painted with bruises and silent crying, but he was offered only kind smiles and understanding.

He thinks he’s found a family.

And Wilbur is everything he could want in an older brother.

So the shift in his behaviour doesn’t go unnoticed.

If Tommy thought Wilbur could be clingy before, then he just dialled it up to eleven. There’s a look of guilt that clings to his features, no matter what expression he’s trying to make. Sometimes when Tommy walks into a room, he catches Wilbur staring at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. But when Tommy turns to look at him, he plasters on a smile and pretends those tears don’t exist.

Wilbur is always ambushing him at the most random moments. If he’s sitting on the couch watching a show, Wilbur will flop down next to him and lean his body weight onto Tommy, laying his head on his hair. Just walking down the hallway, Wilbur will come out of his room and trap him in a tight hug for a second before moving on.

It’s not only his actions that have Tommy confused, it’s what he says too.

He won’t let Tommy out of a hug until Wilbur’s said “I love you”. Those three words have taken up at least sixty percent of his vocabulary in the last couple days. He says it so frequently and so easily, like it’s an obvious truth. He has also told Tommy how much he loves having him in their house, their family. He always says it desperately, like he needs Tommy to know.

It’s odd, but not entirely unwelcome. Tommy thinks this is the most he’s ever heard someone say “I love you” to him.

But the switch came so out of the blue that Tommy can’t help but wonder what changed. He doesn’t know for certain, only that it’s because of soulmates.

He thinks back to Wilbur’s reaction. Tommy had been too busy crying to truly notice but he remembers Wilbur’s body going rigid. He remembers him crying with him.

That, along with the sudden change… It could very well be Wilbur trying to empathise with him, but another question prods at his mind.

Is Wilbur his soulmate?

Tommy doesn’t know what to think of that. He’s not sure if it would break his heart or not.

Wilbur and his soulmate do not correlate in his mind. Wilbur is warm and kind. His soulmate gives him the cold shoulder and crosses out anything he draws.

But even that is different. Ever since that conversation, not a single one of his drawings have been crossed out and the black ink over his flowers has been washed away.

He doesn’t know for certain but he’s going to find out.

***

The guilt doesn’t leave, in fact, Wilbur thinks it’s permanent. It’s not something you get over, the revelation that you’ve been hurting your little brother, your soulmate, for years and without good reason.

Ever since Tommy’s breakdown, Wilbur’s been showering him in affection, as though it could somehow begin to make up for everything. He makes sure that Tommy knows just how much he’s wanted in their home. That he loves him so fucking much.

He’s thrown away all the markers in his pen holders and in his desk. The only ones he left are the ones that don’t draw well on skin.

The laugh track of a tv drama fills the room. Wilbur had flicked the TV on to a random channel in an effort to distract himself from his thoughts. It’s not working and the bad jokes are starting to grate on his already frayed nerves. He grabs the remote and mutes it, opting to just read the captions.

Only he and Tommy are home at the moment. Techno’s at the library while Phil and Kristin are out for lunch with friends.

One crucial thought crosses his mind constantly, whether or not he should tell Tommy the truth. It tosses and turns in his brain as he considers every option and outcome.

On one hand, Tommy deserves to know. He deserves to know the reason behind why his soulmate ignored him, and to know for certain that it’s not his fault in the slightest.

On the other, Wilbur doesn’t think he could handle it if Tommy looks at him differently and he almost certainly will. He doesn’t know if he could handle seeing his look of adoration shift to one of disdain.

It’s incredibly selfish, but he doesn’t want him to know.

But the universe has never given a singular fuck as to what Wilbur wants.

The stairs creak, alerting Wilbur out of his thoughts. He peels his eyes away from the screen as Tommy appears in the living room. He looks nervous, yet, there is a determination behind it.

Wilbur doesn’t even get the chance to say anything before Tommy abruptly speaks.

“Are you my soulmate?”

Wilbur swears he hears a record screech in his ears.

Silence stretches between them as Wilbur remains on the couch, gaping like a goddamn fish, and Tommy stands, shifting from foot to foot, waiting for his answer.

Wilbur finds his voice. “No,” he denies.

Tommy frowns at that. “I don’t believe you.”

“Tommy, I’m not sure what you think-” Tommy cuts him off.

“ I know what I think. I think that you’ve been acting strange for the last couple days. I think that you can barely look at me. I think that there’s no way my soulmate has all of a sudden had a random change of heart and decided to leave my drawings alone.” He looks at Wilbur and it feels like he’s looking into his very soul, seeing the string that ties them together. “Are you my soulmate?”

Wilbur can’t help it. He cries.

Tommy jumps a bit at the sudden tears. “Wilbur-”

“I’m sorry,” Wilbur says tearfully, hiding his face in his hands. “Tommy, I’m so sorry. I’ve hurt you so much and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

He hears a sniff and looks up at Tommy. He has tears running down his face. Wilbur abruptly stands, hands outstretched to wipe them away but he holds himself back.

“Then why,” Tommy’s voice wobbles. “Why did you say it?”

Wilbur can feel his heart breaking. “It’s not your fault. I was a teenager and I was angry and stupid. I was in a bad place and I took out my anger on you when I shouldn’t have.”

“But then it was my fault,” Tommy says, tears beginning to fall faster and his face scrunches at his false conclusion. “You weren’t doing well and I made you mad. So you had every right-”

“Tommy, I had no right doing that,” Wilbur insists. Damn personal space. He cups Tommy’s face in his hands and uses his thumbs to wipe away his tears. He looks Tommy in the eyes, wanting to drive the point home. “You did nothing wrong. I reacted poorly. I had been told that my soulmate might be younger than me, but I was stupid and didn’t listen to that reasoning. I immediately assumed that my soulmate didn’t want to talk to me and I reacted based on that assumption. You were little. When you first talked to me you were simply reacting to your soulmate being mean. I was too deep in my own shit to realise that and I took it personally. It’s not your fault. I’m sorry .”

Tommy takes deep breaths, trying to calm down as he processes Wilbur’s explanation. His blue eyes still shine with the threat of more tears, so Wilbur does the only thing he can think of.

He pulls Tommy into his chest, holding him close. One hand threads its way into his blond hair and Wilbur tucks him snugly under his chin.

“Wil-”

“Tommy, I love you. You know that right?” Wilbur hopes he knows, but by the way his breath hitches he assumes that the reality hasn’t quite sunk in for him yet. “I love you so fucking much. You’ve made my life better since you’ve been here. We all love you. Mom, dad, Techno, you’re part of the family. You’re my little brother and I’m so sorry that I’ve hurt you. You mean so much to me.”

Tommy sobs, his fingers digging into Wilbur’s sweater as he clutches him back. Wilbur tightens his hold. Tommy leans all his weight onto Wilbur, slowly bringing them to the floor. Wilbur adjusts Tommy so he can hold him better, pulling him onto his lap and having him lean against his chest. He cradles the crying boy like he’s made of gold, whispering a million apologies into his hair.

“I’m mad at you,” Tommy hiccups. “I’m really mad at you.”

“I know. I know,” Wilbur whispers, squeezing his eyes closed as tears leak through. He does know. He never expects Tommy to forgive him for this. For years of unnecessary hurt.

“You hurt me a lot,” He sniffles. “You’re going to have to do a lot to make it up to me.”

“Whatever you need me to do,” Wilbur promises. He gently connects his forehead to Tommy’s, closing his eyes. “I’ll do anything to fix this.”

“Anything?” Tommy questions, a lightness returning to his voice.

“Well, nothing that could land me in jail,” Wilbur says, opening his eyes and looking down at his brother.

Tommy hums. “You can start by taking me to Niki’s for dinner, and being my personal chauffeur for the next three months. Oh! And buying me that coloured pencil set I really want.”

Wilbur laughs wetly. “Is that the last of your demands?”

“Only for now.”

Fair enough. Wilbur runs his hand through Tommy’s hair and Tommy slumps into him, leaning into the touch.

There’s still so much to be done, so much to be said, and there’s still a thousand apologies ready to roll off Wilbur’s tongue at a moment's notice. But forgiveness is in the books and it’s a better start than he could have imagined.

Would you look at that? He doesn’t hate his soulmate after all.